


Angel

by cfcureton



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Arrow, Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfcureton/pseuds/cfcureton
Summary: I have no self control when it comes to posting finished chapters. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Which is why you’re getting two in one day.Let me know what you think!





	1. Chapter 1

Look for Angel, they said; cute name for a puppy, maybe, but it sounded like nothing but trouble on a stripper. 

Oliver sat back in his seat with a sigh. The club was seedy, but of course it would be. Worn out, patched up, like the woman of questionable age currently swinging around the pole on center stage. The drinks were watered down, the tables covered in ancient water rings from the thousands of patrons before him who were here to disengage from life’s problems for an hour. 

Some of their collective despair had obviously stayed behind too.

Oliver’s boss shifted to the side at the table in front of him, bored. He wasn’t here to kill an hour; that wasn’t Slade Wilson’s style. He was here for a meeting, a meet-and-greet with a South American cartel boss, a guy who called himself The Dragon. Oliver snorted under his breath. In his experience, nicknames were usually compensatory; luckily, he’d always been good at figuring out what weakness a name like that was trying to cover up.

The act ended and the woman clumped off stage in her super high platforms without a glance back. Oliver scanned the room again, doing his job; it was still early evening and the place was mostly empty. An angry looking server in a skirt that only nominally covered her ass passed by his table with barely a glance; he lifted a hand to flag her down and watched her eyes drop to his empty glass and nod acknowledgement.

“Put your hands together for our next little slice of heaven, Vertigo-go’s very own Angel.”

Oliver sat a little straighter as the music changed and the disco ball stopped spinning in favor of dark purple spot lights. He’d been expecting her signature song to be a play on her stage name—Aerosmith’s “Angel”, maybe—so when the first synth beats of “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails started playing his eyebrows raised slightly. 

She was tiny, but she seemed to take up the whole stage as she stalked out from behind the curtain and flung herself at the pole. The leap sent her two-thirds of the way up; she caught with both hands and swung smoothly, her incredibly toned legs curling around the pole so that her hands could let go and allow her upper body to lean away as she spun in time with the beat.

Oliver felt the atmosphere shift as every male in the room took notice, most of them clapping and whistling. She had wavy, shoulder length blonde hair and very little makeup save for bright red, pouty lips. She was more covered up than most strippers he’d known, in her black bustier and satin boy-cut shorts; she was also barefoot, but it wasn’t hard to see why, considering all the tricks she was doing. 

This looked more like Cirque du Soleil than a pole dance in a shabby strip club.

She had spiraled her way down until she could put her hands on the stage floor and back-walkover her way off the pole into the splits. She pulled her legs in and rolled onto her back, and by the time she came back up to her knees the bustier was in her hand. She dropped it onto the stage and reached for the pole again, and that was when Oliver realized his heart rate had sped up. He swallowed hard and leaned forward. 

It was a six minute song and she used every second of it, bringing the crowd to their feet by her finale, a slow slide down the pole upside down, much like her opening move, except she let her head touch the floor and then slid further down until her back was on the stage and her legs were in the air. Oliver swore as she took that final slide that she had made eye contact with him the whole time. 

The tightness in his trousers said so, anyway. 

The room erupted with cheers, but she didn’t even take a bow; she rolled over and pushed up off the floor in one smooth motion, then bent to retrieve her costume and jogged off stage. 

Oliver was still blinking himself back to reality when Slade turned to him with a grin and a “Worth the cover charge, eh?”

He nodded dumbly as his boss faced the stage once more and then he made himself sweep the room again; The Dragon was due any minute and he didn’t want any surprises. Slade must’ve been thinking along the same lines, because he held up a hand without looking back.

“Tommy,” Slade said; he was talking to Oliver. “Go check the back.”

There weren’t many places an employee of Slade Wilson’s couldn’t go if the man himself was in the building; Oliver brushed past the guy at the Employees Only door with just a meaningful look. Backstage was as worn and tired as the rest of the place, except it also suffered from an abundance of overhead lighting. He poked his head into every unlocked door he could find; the next-to-last one opened into a dressing room and a naked-to-the-waist Angel. 

“Don’t you knock?” she asked sourly, not even bothering to cover up. 

Oliver swallowed the “Sorry” on his lips and just stared at her. When she had decided he wasn’t coming any closer she turned her back on him. She was facing a large dressing table mirror, so his view didn’t actually change; her breasts were small but perfect. A decent handful a piece, his brain mused before he shut the thought down. She pulled the lid off a lipstick and used it without taking her eyes off him. 

“You need something?”

Oliver’s throat was suddenly dry. He swallowed thickly and cleared it, trying to think of a witty reply. His eyes dropped from hers but got caught on their way down along the smooth lines of her back, the way it narrowed at her waist, and the two dimples just above the top of her shorts. He licked his lips. 

“You want to keep looking, you’ll have to pay,” she said then, not harsh, but not excited either. Something about her tone and her demeanor didn’t strike him as belonging to the type of girl who usually found herself in this job. 

“What’s your name?” he said out of nowhere, his eyes still drifting along her back. 

“Angel,” she replied shortly, an edge of annoyance in her voice. His eyes flicked upward to find hers in the mirror again; her forehead was crinkled between her eyes. “You were there,” she huffed then.

So she had been looking at him in the audience. Oliver licked his lips and had the satisfaction of watching her eyes follow his movement. 

“Who do I see about a dance?” he growled.


	2. Chapter 2

I really don’t have time for this, Oliver thought as they ushered him into the private room. If he got caught getting off while Slade was meeting with The Dragon...

You didn’t just get fired from jobs like this. 

Then again, this might be his only opportunity. 

The room was poorly lit on purpose; it held a straight back chair and a leather couch he didn’t want to spend too much time looking at or thinking about. He sat in the chair. 

Just when he’d decided this had become a horrible misuse of his time and his boss’s trust she slid open the curtain and walked in. The bustier was back on, although presumably not for long. 

“You know the drill?” she asked him, and Oliver showed her he did by pushing his hands beneath his thighs. He also leaned back and widened his stance in the chair, a move her blue eyes didn’t miss. A smile flitted across her face as she looked away to dock her phone in the portable sound system; maybe she was impressed, maybe she was saying ‘Can you believe this guy’. Either seemed plausible.

“What kind of music do you like?” Before he could even open his mouth she was pointing a warning finger at him. “Not country. I stand very firm on that.”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “Anything but country,” he agreed amiably. 

She turned as the song she’d chosen started and walked toward him, stopping as soon as she was close enough to lean down and put a hand on each of his knees. 

“The 1975 is an interesting choice,” he noted with a tilt of his head. 

She shrugged and smiled, looking up at him from under her lashes. “I like the beat.”

As proof she did a slow body roll from bottom to top, running her tongue across her top lip and then catching her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I wasn’t criticizing,” Oliver clarified under his breath, his eyes never leaving her mouth. “It’s just not one of their better-known songs.”

“You must be a fan then.”

He quirked one shoulder and she dropped a hand on it to smooth down and away, sending a shiver through him.

“A friend of mine was,” he said quietly.

A small frown creased her forehead; whether he’d intended it or not, she’d picked up that he meant a female friend, and she didn’t know what to do with that information. “Was,” she repeated, stilling to look him in the eye. Oliver nodded slowly without elaborating. Something flashed in her eyes and then she looked away, like she was on her way to being mad. 

“You talk a lot for a guy who’s just paid me to get off.”

His eyebrows jumped. “I didn’t know watching you get off was an option,” he said lightly, and let a slow smile take over his face when she blinked once, realizing he’d turned her words around. A glint came to her eye and she smirked, rolling her body again. 

“That could be fun, actually,” she decided.

“Be my guest,” he growled, trying to ignore the ache in his pants. 

The woman who called herself Angel to strangers straddled his lap, grabbed his shoulders for support, and leaned back in a long slow roll, her eyes closed. Oliver’s eyes never left her as she let go of him to reach around behind her back and unfasten her top, pulling it free and dropping it on the floor next to her foot. She leaned back and rolled again, bare from the waist up. He wanted nothing more than to start at the hollow of her throat and run his palm down the front of her.

Her stomach was flat but not soft; it was obvious from her show that she was toned all over, but his eyes darkened now as he watched her core engage up close.

She’d noticed his obvious arousal; she grinned down at his crotch and ghosted her fingers over the bulge, the lightest of touches but still enough to make him hiss in a breath. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, not looking the least bit sorry at all. “We’re not supposed to touch.”

Angel stood and shifted to the side in order to straddle one of his knees, grinding down on his kneecap with her center; Oliver was privileged to watch her eyes change at the sensation, feeling something that made her mouth fall open a bit on a silent moan. She circled her hips into his knee again and this time she did moan, a low sound for someone with such a high-pitched voice. She’d found the spot; her head dropped forward and rolled as she closed her eyes and chased the sensation. Oliver found himself panting with the effort to sit still, to not reach out for her and take her the rest of the way with some of his more agile body parts. 

He wanted to pinch himself at his luck when she began chanting ‘Yes’ under her breath interspersed with breathy moans that threatened to cause him a very embarrassing personal situation; Oliver grit his teeth and groaned.

“Look at me,” he ground out and her eyes flew open like she was surprised to find someone else in the room. Her mouth opened into an ‘O’ and she went over the edge, falling forward and shuddering her release with her forehead against his shoulder. Rules be damned, he pulled his hands out from under his quivering thighs to grab her around the waist and hold her up until the orgasm had run through her. 

Other than the music it was quiet for a minute or two; in her attempts to recover her breath she puffed warm air against his neck that raised goosebumps as his hands strayed up around her ribcage, his thumbs just skimming the undersides of her breasts. 

She finally sighed and pushed away—at least half an hour before he was ready to consider letting her go—standing and stepping aside so he could get up. 

“Oops,” she said softly, pointing to a wet spot on the knee of his trousers. He huffed a laugh and caught her eye with a shrug.

“Totally worth it,” he assured her. 

“Technically you still have two minutes,” she said, almost shy. He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed about her exhibition or if this was just a bit of her natural personality showing through. Oliver looked pointedly down at the front of his pants.

“I’m gonna need a minute before I go anywhere anyway.”

She nodded, tangled her fingers together in front of her, then seemed to remember she was topless; she said ‘Oh’ very softly and ducked around him to grab the bustier and refasten it. 

“Hey, did you know that guy that was killed here last week? Ramirez? He worked here, didn’t he?”

Angel froze with her hand on the phone dock. “You’re not a cop are you,” she asked, sounding partly mad and partly resigned. Oliver waited until she’d turned to look at him to shake his head no very slowly. 

“I work personal security for Slade Wilson.”

She regarded him another moment, still uncertain. 

“Was that the dude with the eye patch sitting in front of you at my show?”

A slow nod from Oliver. 

Her eyes lit with a glint of mischief. “He some kind of pirate?”

The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Something like that.”

She turned her attention back to shutting down the sound system. “Everybody knew Rene. He was okay.”

“Was he friends with Roy Harper?”

“Roy who?”

“Harper.” Oliver felt her freezing up and backed off a little on the questions, shrugging. Just curious. “I’d heard nobody’s seen him since Ramirez got knifed. I didn’t know if he hung out here, maybe.”

She lifted her shoulders without making eye contact. End of discussion, clearly. 

“Ramirez ever get one of those—“ Oliver turned to indicate the chair—“from any of you?”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious again. “That’s not one of the employee benefits, no.”

“Time’s up,” a deep male voice boomed into the room as the curtain was drawn back. The guy attached to the voice was just as big as the sound he made; his arms were the size of small trees. 

“Thanks Dig,” she said, soft and reassuring, the Angel act abandoned again. Oliver indicated that she should go ahead of him and tried like hell to make normal eye contact with her enormous bodyguard as he moved out into the hall. 

“Hey Kid, where’d you go?” a very familiar Australian accent inquired from somewhere nearby.

Oliver hated the nickname, but nobody had ever asked his opinion. 

Slade Wilson appeared with his other bodyguard in tow, all swagger and bravado. “You been hiding back here, Tommy?” he growled good naturedly. 

“Keeping an eye out,” Oliver corrected quietly, although three-fifths of present company knew that to be a lie. “Did he show?”

Slade smiled like a wolf. “We’re all set for next week.” His single eye bored into Oliver for a moment, and even though he was still smiling Oliver couldn’t tell what exactly he was thinking. He never found out, because Slade’s focus shifted to the tiny blonde stripper standing next to her bouncer friend. 

“This must be the lovely Angel,” he purred, reaching for her hand. “What does it take for a gentleman to get a moment alone with such a delectable creature?” 

Oliver’s chest burned suddenly; with what, jealously? Concern for her safety? Whatever it was he didn’t like it, but he stood like a statue as Angel took his boss’s hand and led the way back into the private room. 

“What kind of music do you like?”

Her sultry question drifted to his ears as the curtain shut behind them; Oliver took up his position opposite his partner and stared straight ahead while Slade asked for something country and she agreed with a musical laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no self control when it comes to posting finished chapters. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Which is why you’re getting two in one day.  
> Let me know what you think!

He dreamed of Sara that night. He’d dreamt of her a lot over the last 18 months, but usually it was just the run-of-the-mill weird dreams, like they were grocery shopping together but one of them was inexplicably riding a Grizzly Bear. The kind of dream that left him both happy and sad as he began to wake and the details drifted away.

This was not one of those dreams. In this dream he was walking into a dimly lit bar, moving slowly because his eyes were having trouble adjusting to the dark after the bright sunlight outside. And then everything slowed down; his movements became syrupy as he struggled to get to the bar, to get behind it. He was frantic, but his arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate and his eyes wouldn’t stay open, no matter how hard he tried. If he could just get behind the bar in time—

Oliver sat straight up in bed with a yell, a sheen of sweat covering him. He dropped his head and tried to get his breathing back under control, not ready to sleep again, but not really wanting to get up yet either. 

The chill of drying perspiration finally drove him out of bed to get a shirt. He grabbed a book and headed for the living room to wait for dawn. 

—————————————————————-

The exchange with The Dragon was scheduled to take place down at the docks, but the morning of their meeting he requested they convene at Vertigo-go beforehand for a little entertainment. Slade Wilson was not a man who appreciated a last-minute change of plans, but Oliver was in the room when the request came through and watched the man’s eye glint with desire. He was thinking of Angel. 

The look on his boss’s face made Oliver’s blood boil. 

He brooded about it all day, imagining his meaty hands on her. Once, a picture of her falling apart on Slade’s lap as she had done on his flashed in Oliver’s head and he saw red. For the sake of his job—and his life—he slammed a lid on the image and pushed it away.

That evening Oliver and his partner cleared the strip club and went back to the car to escort Slade inside. It was only six thirty, but storm clouds had rolled in late in the afternoon, turning the world into artificial night. Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

“Gonna be a wet night on the docks,” his partner muttered to no one in particular as they flanked their boss along with the rest of their crew and strode into the club. 

Oliver buzzed with tension as he scanned the dim room and his counterpart secured a good spot to seat their party. The girl on stage was a leggy brunette, flailing around to a song he didn’t recognize. His skin itched to get backstage to check on a certain blonde—

“Tommy.” Slade’s growl brought him back to the moment. “Go see when the lovely Angel is due on stage.”

Relief and concern washed over him in equal measure; he turned without comment and pushed through the Employees Only door like he owned the place.

Oliver stalked down the hall, aiming for the next-to-last door, her dressing room; he was so intent on his mission, at first he didn’t notice the short woman in the khaki pants and cardigan he was catching up to. He was blowing by her when he heard her gasp. 

He glanced down at her tight pony tail and dark framed glasses and almost moved on past her, until her saw her bright red lips and the startled look of recognition in her eyes. 

“Angel?” The way her eyes dropped told him everything he needed to know; Oliver stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. His eyes raked over her from top to bottom while his brain tried to reconcile the girl in front of him with the vixen from a week ago bringing the crowd to its feet. This was the woman who had relaxed enough to get herself off on his very obliging knee? 

She looked like she couldn’t believe it either. 

“Um,” she said, her blue eyes darting back up to his and staring, like she was terrified he was going to expose her for a fraud. Oliver reached out to cup her elbow but she flinched away and his hand froze. No touching, then. 

“Hi.” He decided to back up and start from scratch to try to un-weird the situation. 

“Hello.” It was definitely her voice; the memory of the sound of her moans shot straight to his dick and made him clear his throat. He opened his mouth again but the words froze on his tongue as his eyes caught movement at the far end of the hall; her giant bodyguard friend was walking toward them. 

“Is there somewhere we could go? To, um, talk?” 

Obviously he’d put the ‘um’ in the wrong part of the sentence, because the look on her face said she didn’t think he meant he wanted to be alone with her so they could converse. 

“I didn’t mean...whatever you think I’m implying,” he corrected quickly. “I don’t actually have a lot of time. I just want to ask you a couple of questions.” Big Guy was getting closer; Oliver’s heart rate bumped up a notch. 

Angel bit her lip but nodded; she glanced away to her bouncer buddy and whatever he saw on her face made him slow to a stop, his arms crossing in a way that said he was still open to the idea of manhandling, if necessary. She led the way to her dressing room. 

He hadn’t noticed before, but the space was nothing more than an oversized closet, really; she had hung several costumes on a set of shelves holding cleaning supplies and rolls of toilet paper, and her dressing table was shoved awkwardly into the corner; he could see a mop handle sticking out from behind it. 

“What are you doing in here?” It came out under his breath without his permission, and his eyes dropped to her immediately, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No,” she sort of laughed, though she wasn’t smiling, “it’s a valid question.” She had dumped her purse on a chair and now stood facing him, the fingers of one hand rubbing furiously at the crinkled skin between her eyes. 

“What’s your real name?” he asked softly, shifting his weight sideways in lieu of taking a step toward her the way he really wanted.

“Felicity.” She blew out a breath, like the reveal had somehow set her free. Or sealed her fate. “Smoak.”

“Felicity. Hi, I’m—“

“Tommy. I know.”

He blinked once, because he’d almost said Oliver and blown everything. What the hell. 

“Yeah,” he said instead, remembering Slade calling his name in front of her. Before they’d gone off to—“It’s nice to meet you.”

Felicity pulled her lips in to chew on the top one, nodding softly and not looking at him. “Sooo,” she drew it out, prompting him to get on with it. “I have a show in thirty minutes, and I need to get ready.”

“Of course. Sorry. I, uh, could I see you...later?” No, of course he couldn’t, he had a night at the docks ahead of him, but he had to ask. He needed to see her again. 

Her brow crinkled. “You mean for another...dance?” 

Oliver tried again to picture the girl in front of him grinding to The 1975 and swallowed hard. “Or...dinner? Maybe? Just a chance to talk.” 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, as it had all night, but something about it this time made Oliver pay attention; it was a continuous grumbling roll, and it was getting louder. 

He’d left the door open, so he only had to step into the hall to check on things; his upper body was leaning out into the hallway when the armored truck crashed through the back of the building. 

——————————————————————

The timber-framed walls mostly exploded inward with the impact; once the truck had rolled over the debris there was nothing to keep its occupants from getting out. They used the open doors of the cab as shields and began to fire, spraying bullets down the hall. 

It was too loud now to be able to tell what might be going on at the front of the building, but Oliver knew his job was to get to his boss. He only had a second to decide whether to throw himself across the hall in the direction of Slade or duck back into the closet; he heard Felicity shriek in fear and chose the closet. 

“Get down,” he barked, launching himself toward her, crowding her with his body and trying to shove her into the space under her dressing table. A glance up told him there was a window high on the wall; if they stood on the table they could just about reach it. 

She would probably fit through.

Bullets were ripping through the thin drywall in the hallway and peppering the room; if they were out of the truck already and moving in he and Felicity only had seconds left before they became nothing more than target practice. 

The giant boom of a 500 Magnum answered back from the other end of the hallway; bullets flew at them less frequently now that the assault rifles had something more interesting to focus on. That was all the cover Oliver needed. 

“Come on,” he ordered, dragging Felicity out from under the table by her elbow and making her squawk in protest. “Up.” He grabbed the chair he’d previously flung aside and indicated she should climb on it and then the dressing table. Oliver followed her, testing his weight gingerly before putting both feet on the table, careful to keep his body between any stray bullets and her.

From this high up he could reach the latch to open the window; it hinged at the top and opened out, not very far but enough for her. Without asking permission he grabbed Felicity around the waist and hoisted her up so she could grab the bottom sill. 

“Hurry,” he pleaded, anxious that so much of her was exposed above him. The Magnum boomed again, closer this time, like the shooter was gaining ground. Above him Felicity moaned in fear. 

“Get out and run,” he ordered as he walked his hands down her body until he got to her ankles.

“What about you?!” she shrieked, her head and shoulders already disappearing out the window. There was no good answer to that, so he didn’t say anything. Just before she reached the tipping point where there would be no stopping her fall to the outside she hesitated, scared. 

“Felicity,” he warned, his voice gone growly with concern. He had just bent his knees to heave her over the sill himself when something huge and heavy slammed into the doorframe behind him with a grunt. 

Oliver ducked and shoved upward at the same time, making Felicity scream; she teetered but didn’t go over, her hands catching on the open window and holding her in place. It’s like trying to put a damn cat in a carrier, he thought wildly, darting a glance over his shoulder at the new development.

The heavy thud had been her bouncer; the Magnum was his, still clutched in a hand drenched in blood. His other arm was wrapped around his body; hit more than once, Oliver guessed. 

He heard Felicity screech ‘Dig’ and realized she must have turned to look back; one good shove could still send her out the window against her wishes, but the wounded man’s head was turned to her, seeking her out. She was the reason he’d stormed the hall alone against AR-15s, and even now he was trying to get to her. 

Shots were coming toward them from the club floor now, a new thing to keep the assault rifles busy; hopefully they belonged to somebody on his side. Oliver ground his teeth and growled in anger but tugged on Felicity’s legs to indicate she should let go of the sill. She slid down the wall and dropped onto the table in front of him, already trying to get to her friend, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her in front of him, shielding her until he could step backwards onto the chair and on down to the floor. 

By the time he’d turned them around the bouncer had dropped to one knee; it was obvious he was holding on to consciousness by sheer force of will. 

“Is there another way I can get her out?” Oliver asked quickly. 

“No! Not without Dig!” He still had her pulled against his body but she started to fight wildly, kicking and squirming so that he had to wrap his other arm around her or risk losing her. She kept yelling ‘He’s with me!’ and wriggling against him until he finally yelled ‘Okay’ several times so she’d calm down. 

“How do we get out?!” he shouted, at the end of his patience. The big man tipped his head behind him tiredly, toward the metal shelves full of tp. Oliver frowned for a second and then took a step that way—one arm still bound around Felicity’s waist—and yanked on the shelves until they tipped forward, spilling everything to the floor; there was a door in the wall behind it.

“Connects,” the big man gasped, crouching at Oliver’s feet, “next room. Emergency exit.”

It was a fragmented explanation, but it was enough. Oliver nodded and let go of Felicity so that she could help him lift their companion. There was more yelling than gunfire now; the front room must’ve made some positive progress, but that meant HIS people, and any second they’d be expecting him to join them. Left on their own these two wouldn’t make it three feet.

“We gotta move,” he growled, swearing profusely in his head as he took the bigger man’s weight and maneuvered them both to the door. Felicity skipped ahead and managed to drag it open enough for them to get through; piles of garbage bags were stacked against the opening on the other side and Oliver heard her make an hysterical sound of fear, but she scrambled over them and then hauled the bags out of the way as best she could, making a path for the two of them to stumble through. 

“Do you have a car?” Oliver gritted out as they reached the emergency exit. 

“My purse,” she screeched, turning to scamper back into the other room before he could grab her. 

“She always like this?” he huffed, unable to follow and scared witless until her blond head reappeared in the doorway.

“Yes,” her friend said shortly, in a gasp that implied an eye roll. 

Felicity hit the panic bar; the metal door screeched in protest but opened into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The door opened into the back parking lot, the employee lot, as desperate and forlorn as the inside of the club, full of weed-filled cracks in the asphalt and late 90s Grand Ams. 

Oliver flung out a hand to grab Felicity’s arm when she would’ve bolted out into the open.

“Let me check,” he ordered tightly, scanning left and right to make sure the coast was clear. 

“Okay.” He let go and hoisted the mostly-dead weight of the bouncer a little higher, following her to the only nice vehicle in sight. Felicity unlocked the doors remotely and paused long enough to toss her purse into the front seat before grabbing the handle to the back door. 

“A Mini Cooper,” Oliver said under his breath. What he meant was ‘How the hell are we supposed to get Andre the Giant into this thing?’, but he kept that to himself. To his credit, the guy was trying to help, bending in half with a groan and practically falling into the backseat. He made some not-good sounds as he attempted to drag himself across the seat, and for several seconds Oliver feared they’d have to drive away with the doors open. 

The man’s feet finally cleared the threshold with a groan and Oliver shut the door, intending to skirt the front of the car to drive; he couldn’t find Felicity until he bent and looked through the windshield and caught her waving at him wildly from the driver’s seat, wanting him to ride shotgun.

“No,” he said, as soon as he opened the passenger door. 

“Shut up and get in,” she demanded, starting the engine and throwing it into gear before he’d even closed the door. 

“Felicity—“

“Where are we going?” she asked as she peeled out of her space, wisely choosing to go around the building on the opposite side of the wreckage. 

“Would you just—“ Oliver made a grab for the steering wheel as she careened around the end of the building, potentially straight into a fire fight. Or his boss. “STOP for a second. Dammit!”

Felicity slammed on the brakes and the occupant in the backseat groaned in protest. 

“Sorry, Dig. What?!” That last was directed at him; Oliver lifted his hand off of hers on the wheel and huffed a sigh. 

“Just let me look a minute. We can’t just drive through the middle of a fire fight.”

The look on her face suggested she thought they damn well could, which was supremely irritating. Oliver climbed out of the car and jogged to the corner of the building to plaster himself against it and peek around at the front parking lot; everything was quiet. No cops yet either. Better and better. 

He hurried back to fold himself into the ridiculously small vehicle. “Do you live close by?”

Felicity’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a fish. “Dig needs a hospital—“

“No hospital,” the man in question groaned from the back seat just as Oliver said ‘Not a good idea’; she turned her head and gaped at him, but had no words.

“I’m all the way across town. I can patch him up if you live close. Felicity,” he prompted, when she continued to stare. Her hands fumbled for her purse and he rolled his eyes heavenward—really?—but she came up with her phone almost immediately, tapped out a lightning-fast text, and dropped it into her lap. 

“Okay. Hang on, everybody.”

—————————————————————-

She only lived about a mile away, in an older apartment building with a handful of units. 

“Is there a back entrance?” Oliver asked tightly, swiveling his head all directions as he checked out the surroundings. 

“Yeah, but there’s no parking. It’s where we take the trash out. Where the dumpster is.”

“But you can get in from outside?”

Felicity nodded, already turning the corner to get to the alley. 

Mercifully the storm had passed without any rain; Oliver began the extraction process of their patient while Felicity got the back door open. She propped it ajar with a brick before coming over to see if she could help get her friend out of the car. 

“Something tells me bloodstains are not covered under my lease,” she muttered, taking one of the bouncer’s outstretched arms as Oliver helped him heave himself to a stand.

“Quietly,” he reminded everyone in a gritty whisper as they began their trek into the building.

“No elevator, but it’s only the second floor,” she whispered, grunting a little at the strain; she was taking a lot of weight for her size, which either said a lot about her relationship with this dude, or about her in general. 

The three of them mostly fell into the darkened apartment; Oliver steered the big man toward the living room couch after Felicity motioned vaguely in the right direction. She ducked under his arm and darted away when Oliver growled for lights; he only wanted to lay this guy down once, if possible, and he sure didn’t want to misjudge the landing and drop him on the floor. 

His eyes were closed now; Oliver thought he’d passed out until he mumbled “Sorry in advance about your upholstery,” as he flopped onto the cushions. 

“Can I look?” Oliver asked, a hand already on the tail of his shirt. The man nodded faintly. “Dig, right?”

There was a moment of quiet while Oliver gingerly worked to pull his shirt up and away from all the blood. 

“My friends call me Dig,” the big man gritted out. “You can call me John.”

“Okay,” Oliver chuckled. He got quiet when he finally found the wound, only speaking to ask Felicity for scissors so he could cut the shirt off of him. With the shirt removed he found the second wound as well.

“Hang tight, John,” he said softly, getting no response back. He rose to his feet and pulled Felicity aside; his hand stayed on her upper arm, but mostly for his benefit. 

“The one in his shoulder is a through-and-through. Just needs a couple of stitches on either side. The other one nicked his side. It took a good chunk out of him—“ Felicity swallowed audibly with a faint gagging noise—“but there’s definitely an exit wound there too. It’s just going to take a little more work to sew up.”

“Tommy, are you sure we can’t...“

The hand on her arm squeezed gently and she trailed off with a sigh. 

“GSWs mean questions. And the police. My boss wouldn’t like it, your boss wouldn’t like it. I don’t even know who the hell that was, or what they were after. And until I figure it out, John has to stay here.”

She looked away from him to study the bulky man bleeding into her couch cushions and finally nodded. Oliver let out a relieved sigh and rubbed absently up and down her arm with his fingers. 

“I saw a drugstore a couple blocks back. I’m going to go get some supplies and I’ll come right back to stitch him up. Okay?”

Felicity nodded and he started to pull away until her hand came up to grab onto the lapel of his suit coat. 

“You...you’re...” Her grip tightened and he dropped his gaze to her hand clutching on to him; the entire front of his dark gray dress shirt was black with blood. 

“Oh, right.” Oliver shrugged out of his coat, loosened his tie, and started in on the buttons of his shirt. He had put a black dri-fit on under the dress shirt in anticipation of the late night dock work; it too was damp in places with blood, but at least they didn’t show. 

Felicity still had an odd look on her face. “You’re sure none of that is...”

“Mine? No, I’m fine. They missed me.” 

Her hand was back against his chest; a tremor started in it and traveled up her arm until she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. Shock was setting in.

“Hey,” he said, whisper-soft. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Here. Look.” Oliver stepped back enough to raise the hem of his shirt up above his pecs so she could see for herself that there wasn’t a mark on him. He watched her eyes travel over his torso; it felt like she was cataloging every mark and freckle, to make sure everything was in its proper place, which should’ve been weird since she’d never seen his body before. 

But somehow it wasn’t. 

Oliver turned slowly in a circle so she could confirm that he was indeed all in one piece. He felt her hand against the tail of his shirt, hiking it higher since he couldn’t reach all of it from his angle. Her fingers floated across his skin, helping her ground herself, making her steadier by the second. He finished his turn and pulled the shirt back down.

“Okay?”

Felicity nodded. 

“Lock the door behind me. I won’t be long.”

————————————————————-

John was out when he returned with two plastic shopping bags full of first aid supplies. Felicity looked a little freaked out about it, but Oliver assured her it was probably for the best if he was unconscious; the makeshift surgery was not going to be a pleasant experience. 

She went ghostly white when he pulled the package with the sterile needle out of the bag. So much for having an assistant for this job, he thought with a sigh. He finished laying out the supplies on her coffee table and got to his feet to come to her.

“Could you get me an extra lamp, a couple of clean towels, and a clean sheet?” She started to move around him but he reached out to take ahold of both her shoulders. “And after that, I want you to take a shower and make yourself something to eat. Okay?”

Felicity nodded a couple of times, still looking a little out of it. On impulse he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, and then went back to work.

He waited until she’d gone into the bathroom and shut the door before he started; there would be no rescuing fainting damsels once he got his hands sterilized. Oliver took his time cleaning everything and made careful, if not particularly even, stitches.

“You’ll never forget me after this patch job,” he muttered at one point, thinking of the shape of the scar that would eventually be John’s souvenir of this night. 

The whole thing took about an hour and a half. In that time he assumed Felicity had found something to eat; if she’d cooked anything he hadn’t heard or smelled it. Oliver dropped the last piece of bloody gauze into the plastic bag he was using for trash and collapsed onto his rump on the floor, staring at his sleeping patient. The guy could really use some blood.

“Tommy?”

He honestly thought she’d gone to bed already. “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

Oliver shook himself out of his trance and pushed to his feet with a groan of fatigue and cramped leg muscles. “I’m good.” He stretched his arms up over his head and caught her staring at the strip of stomach exposed by his pulled-up shirt. She still looked a bit shell-shocked, but he saw desire in her eyes too; he felt a zing of arousal rush through his veins, even as tired as he was. 

He turned away from her and headed for the bathroom to wash up; when he emerged she was leaning in the doorway of her bedroom in lounge pants and a giant sweatshirt, her fingers tangled in the bottom hem. Oliver took an extra step toward her so that they were almost touching, close enough that she had to tip her head back to look at him.

“I have to go,” he said softly, and watched the skin around her eyes tighten with concern. “I have to check in with my boss, let them know I’m okay.” His eyes strayed to the couch and the sleeping giant on it. “See if anyone knows what that was tonight.”

Felicity lifted a hand and laid it against his chest, right over his heart. “You’ll come back?” A whisper. 

He nodded, eyes closing briefly as he pictured himself falling into bed instead. With her. 

“I’ll come back.”


	5. Chapter 5

He’d probably never admit it to Felicity, but the Mini was a fun car to drive, its ridiculously small size notwithstanding. He’d taken the liberty of removing the license plate and stashing it under the front seat; it was late, and he was driving the speed limit, so there was little danger of getting pulled over.

And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone from his outfit running her plates for fun. 

Slade Wilson kept several places in the city, the usual bad guy lairs in various abandoned warehouses and gaudy nightclubs, but Oliver guessed he’d be at his favorite tonight. There was no way his boss would think of this evening’s ambush as anything but a declaration of war; he’d be spending the night in his castle.

The thought behind it was actually pretty ingenious: Pick a prominent downtown high rise and buy it, then lease the floors—at a very reasonable rate—to your friends and business associates. Make it known that anyone under your roof is also under your protection; keep your word on that. Violently. Extend your benevolent hand to those in local public office; donate your banquet space for political fundraisers and town hall meetings. Get everybody on your side. The businesses under your protection will eventually get the best city contracts and will thrive, even after your generous cut. And if you have to twist a politician’s arm from time to time to get preferential treatment, well, that’s just the price of doing business. 

This was Slade Wilson’s business model, and business was good. His outward respectability covered (and paid for) his copious international underworld dealings, and made him practically untouchable. Which is how Oliver found himself in a luxury downtown skyscraper with a secure elevator that only had one destination: Slade Wilson’s penthouse.

Oliver strode out of the elevator carrying his bloodied shirt and jacket over his arm and wearing a murderous frown; someone had recently tried to kill him, after all. The whole floor was lit up and full of people, despite the fact that it was approaching midnight. Eyes lifted to him as he moved down the hall; some relieved, some suspicious, all curious to know where the hell he’d been since six forty-five.

“Was it Diaz?” he growled, not even bothering to wait to be greeted as he entered Slade’s office. 

“Ricardo Diaz was sitting next to me when it happened,” Slade countered, royally pissed off himself. “He took a bullet in the arm. It wasn’t him.”

Oliver’s raised eyebrow said he didn’t think that necessarily made him innocent. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Slade had a nasty scratch over his eye, but otherwise appeared to be unharmed. 

“I got caught in the hall by the armored truck. A bouncer got shot up; we managed to get out together and I patched him up.”

“At your place?”

“No, his.”

“Was that his car you just showed up in?” 

Somebody had been watching the security feed of the underground garage; maybe Slade himself. 

“Stole it,” Oliver replied shortly, careful to hold his gaze. Slade looked annoyed; not because he was above stealing, but because those kinds of crimes often required some cleanup. 

“What happened to the stripper?” He meant Angel.

“No idea. Never saw her.”

Slade’s eye bored into both of his, testing him with angry silence, waiting to see if he would crack. Oliver had spent the elevator ride slowing his heartbeat to a crawl; his pulse throbbed slow and steady under his skin, his heart rate keeping his body perfectly calm so it could make his case for him. Even a polygraph wouldn’t give him away at this point.

His boss finally nodded, convinced. Not happy that he’d been out of the fold for so long, but not suspicious.

Or at least not suspicious enough to spend any more time on him at the moment. 

“Are we still a go for the docks?” Oliver asked then, resuming his walk into the room to take up his spot as one of of Slade Wilson’s most trusted advisors, a position he had fought for and held onto for the last fifteen months. He watched Slade make a face.

“We can’t take the chance until we know who did this.” His head tipped as it slowly swiveled toward him, the blank space of his eye patch adding to the intimidation he already possessed in spades. “That’s what you’re going to figure out.”

Oliver nodded once, more than ready to discover that himself. 

————————————————————-

He and a hand-picked team worked late into the night, putting out feelers to friendly—and not-as-friendly—associates, combing over the timeline of events, and pulling security footage from the area. Like working a murder investigation, he thought grimly, rubbing his gritty eyes and refocusing on grainy footage from the gas station across the street from Vertigo-go. 

He was particularly interested in any frames containing a certain Mini Cooper peeling out of the parking lot, and whether or not a petite blonde could be seen behind the wheel. 

“What time is it?” he ground out, very thirsty and in need of a pee. 

“Shitty o’clock,” someone wise-cracked tiredly, making the room chuckle. Oliver ran both hands up over his head and sighed. 

“Keep working.”

————————————————————-

He finally called a halt for the night—conveniently after confirming the identity of the Mini driver was impossible to distinguish—after 3am. Slade had turned in for the night in this building which was practically a fortress, and the wheels of the investigation into the attack had been set into motion. Oliver left instructions for the morning shift and dragged himself to the parking garage. 

He sat for a full minute behind the wheel, fatigued and sore as hell, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and his own bed. But he had other responsibilities to take care of first.

————————————————————-

She’d given him her entire key ring when he borrowed the car; he let himself in to her apartment as quietly as possible. 

To his surprise, Felicity was still awake, tucked up in a chair with her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes flicked to him at the front door, but she seemed too tired to make any other move to acknowledge him. 

“Hey,” he said softly as he closed and locked the door. “Everything okay?”

Her eyebrows lifted in a way that could mean anything. 

“Has he been awake?” he continued, circling behind the couch to look down at John; she’d covered him with a blanket, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. Felicity shook her head no, still staring at her friend. 

“He looked cold,” was all she said. Hence the blanket, he thought. Oliver stepped past her, brushing her knee with his fingers in a hello—or maybe just as a reassurance for himself—and squatted next to the sleeping man. He lifted the blanket carefully and used the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the bandages; everything looked good, considering, and he didn’t appear to have a fever. Oliver lifted his head and looked at her for a long moment. 

“You should get some sleep,” he urged softly. “I’ll sit up with him.” He levered himself up off the floor and realized how grimy he felt. “If I can grab a shower first,” he added wryly. 

Felicity seemed to swim up out of her trance, nodded, and unfolded from the chair. Her sweatshirt from earlier was gone; she only had a fitted tank top on with her pj bottoms. 

“The shower’s kinda weird,” she said numbly, leading the way into the bathroom, presumably to get it started for him. Oliver toed off his shoes with a weary sigh and followed her into the small space. 

The building was pre-war and the bathroom looked to be a good fifty years old; the pipes in the walls clanked furiously as she turned on the taps and Oliver took an extra step into the room and shut the door in order to keep from disturbing John. 

She turned with an ‘oh’, crowded back as she was against the edge of the tub now that they were both in the tight space. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, and backed against the wall to give her room, although as big as he was it didn’t create much extra space. Felicity must’ve decided his close proximity was okay, because she pivoted back to the tub and leaned out over it to reach for the shower lever, demonstrating how to turn it on. He leaned in as well to get a look, trying to focus his tired eyes on her movements and suddenly very aware of her warm body beneath his. 

She looked back over her shoulder, their eyes caught, and all the events of the last several hours washed over them like a tide. She made a noise somewhere between a cry and a moan and twisted around wildly for his mouth; Oliver sucked in a breath of surprise at the kiss but didn’t argue. 

They went at it as if they were starving, or drowning and trying desperately to save themselves. Oliver got his arms around her and rotated her body so he could pull her against him, under him, almost; she was so much smaller than him it was almost funny. A half step to the side put her ass against the ancient porcelain sink, which steadied her and freed his hands to roam. 

He felt frantic tugging at the hem of his shirt and realized she was trying to get it off him. “I’m disgusting,” he warned, pulling away from her mouth long enough to yank the shirt over his head. 

“Don’t care. Oh god,” she moaned, moving back in at the first opportunity to claim his mouth again. 

And then she was turning, or he was turning her; he couldn’t tell anymore. He bent her forward over the sink, raking at the waistband of her sleep pants with clumsy fingers, dragging them down over her ass so quickly there was no way to admire the view, going for his own fly just as urgently. This was no time for finesse, not a romantic scenario by any stretch of the imagination; this was stress and fear and fatigue, jumbled together over the last ten hours and compressed until it all exploded. 

She dropped her head, panting, ready for him, wanting him as badly as he could ever remember being wanted. 

“Tommy,” she groaned, a wanton sigh at the end of his not-name, and something inside Oliver—something he had buried eighteen months ago alongside Sara—stretched thin and snapped. 

His hands froze, one on her hip, the other ready to push down his underwear. He gulped in one breath, then two, staring at the top of her head reflected in front of him in the mirror. She jerked her hips back, prompting him, urging him to hurry, strung out with fatigue and probably still in shock and wanting him to make her feel something other than bad.

“Felicity,” he gasped, “I don’t...I can’t...” Her head snapped up and their eyes caught in the mirror: She thought he was rejecting her. Her expression of hurt and rage went straight to his gut. “No...that’s...not what I meant,” he struggled to clarify, but she was already moving, shoving back against him to make room so she could bend down and grab up the pants pooled at her feet, wrenching her shoulder out of his grasp when he tried to touch her. She was reaching for the door handle, so he stretched his arm out above her and slapped his palm against the door. 

“WAIT, god dammit,” he growled, leaning on the arm when she yanked on the knob with a sob of frustration. “Felicity!”

He could barely move with his stupid trousers around his ankles, but he shuffled a step closer to snag Felicity’s waist and pull her around and against him. He thought she might fight him—she’d already proven how fierce she could be—but the rage seemed to drain out of her as soon as she made contact with his bare chest; her arms snaked around him to squeeze and the dam burst. 

Oliver laid his cheek against the top of her head and rocked her gently as water gushed out of the tap and the plumbing whined and steam swirled around them and sobs wracked her body. 

“I’ve wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you,” he murmured when she finally quieted, not even sure she could hear him over the sound of the water. “But you deserve more than a quick fuck in the bathroom, Felicity. You hear me?” She sniffed in answer, clearly listening at least. Considering. “I only get one first time with you, and I’d rather wait and do it right. Okay?”

She nodded against him, suddenly limp and exhausted, smaller than she’d ever seemed. He used his index finger to tip up her chin and give her the softest of kisses, just a brush of his lips on hers, and then she was shuffling out the door to go to bed and he was left staring at his fuzzy outline in the fogged-up bathroom mirror.


	6. Chapter 6

She was the one to wake him, an awkward tap on the shoulder where he lay scrunched down into an overstuffed living room chair with his feet on the coffee table. Oliver gasped in a breath and tried to sit up fast, thinking something must be wrong. 

“He has to go to the bathroom, but I’m afraid he’s too heavy for me.”

Oliver had a crick in his neck which he feared might be fatal, but he staggered to his feet anyway with an ‘okay’. John was sitting up too, though he didn’t look particularly happy about it. 

Oliver groaned and gasped as he attempted to stretch out the kinks, and then felt horrible when he realized he was making more noises than the guy who’d recently been shot twice. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but the last time he remembered checking his phone was at 5:45; it was now 8am.

“How you feeling?” he asked. His mouth felt gluey and gross, the result of dehydration and using his finger as a toothbrush, probably.

John’s eyes were focused somewhere to the side of Oliver’s left knee. “Like I was shot, stuffed into a clown car, and stitched up by the guy who invented Operation.”

Oliver huffed a surprised laugh. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

John’s eyes lifted to his, mildly murderous. “Since about 6am.”

Oliver nodded in understanding and bent to help him up. They were both pleasantly surprised to discover he could get around pretty well on his own, as long as he took it slow. John did what he needed in the bathroom and then before he left Oliver checked his bandages, trying very hard not to think about what he and Felicity had almost done at that sink. 

“You trained as a field medic?” John asked gruffly, wincing once when the tape pulled.

“Something like that.” Oliver glanced up at his patient’s face as John twisted around enough to inspect the patch job on his side. 

“Looks like you skipped a couple classes,” he observed drily. Oliver chose to let that one go. 

Felicity was waiting for them outside the bathroom; Oliver couldn’t quite meet her eye as they moved as a unit back into the living room, none of them sure what should happen next. 

“Can we get him something to eat?” he asked her quietly, stepping to the side and somehow pulling her with him like a magnet. Felicity led the way to a tiny kitchen with mostly-empty cabinets; all he found were various flavors of Vienna sausages. 

“These are not food,” he scolded, holding up a tiny can. She huffed at him, declaring them adorable, and when John overheard and agreed that they were delicious, Oliver growled that she was not to be encouraged. 

He managed to find a carton of eggs in the fridge. 

“It’s mostly a guideline with eggs,” he assured her quietly when she pointed out the faintly questionable expiration date with a crinkle of concern between her eyes. He hoped this was true—was running with it at any rate—because on two hours sleep he didn’t have the strength to go grocery shopping. 

He scrambled the eggs while Felicity made coffee and offered him a mug; she wrinkled her nose when he asked for it black and he felt himself smile ever-so-slightly, but then he shut it down, because this whole thing was beginning to feel domestic. 

And that scared the shit out of him. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, just above a whisper as she watched him cook, a coffee mug that read ‘My Death Will Probably Be Caused By Being Sarcastic At The Wrong Time’ just below her mouth. The hairs on his arms lifted, because it felt like she was reading his mind. 

He considered several answers but rejected each one, eventually settling on a brief enigmatic smile. He heard her sigh, and maybe her coffee mug returned to the kitchen counter a little louder than was necessary; apparently she wasn’t a fan of the quiet, mysterious type.

They ate together in the living room—the eggs were fine—silent except for the scrape of forks on plates. Both John and Felicity ate Vienna sausages with their scramble.

Food was helpful, but it didn’t make up for almost no sleep; Oliver collected everyone’s plates then swayed dangerously as he stood, light-headed and hazy with fatigue. He heard Felicity follow him into the kitchen; she inserted herself between him and the sink with a frown. 

“I’ll wash these. You need sleep. Go.” She pointed toward her bedroom, not the living room, and for a second he could only stand and blink at her, confusion and concern jumbling together in his brain; he didn’t dare misinterpret these signals. 

“I have blackout curtains in my room. Use the bed. GO.” She gave him a shove with one hand, though there was no animosity in the move; quite the opposite, in fact, as her hand shifted over onto his back and slipped down, feather-light, over his ass as he was moving away. 

So that happened. 

“John, you okay if I grab another couple hours of sleep?” he asked, thinking he might need to be somewhere this morning. But the man shook his head no.

“I’m about ready for a nap myself. Take your time.”

Oliver dragged himself into her bedroom and shut the door. 

—————————————————————-

His sleep was heavy and dreamless, but as Oliver finally swam up to consciousness there was a long moment when he thought he was back in Sara’s apartment, smothered under her duvet and feeling the steady thrum of EDM from the club next door. He groaned and reached for her as he rolled over, but she wasn’t in the bed; he was alone. 

Oliver dropped his head back into the pillow and huffed a huge sigh, slowly separating memories from reality; this was not Sara’s bed at all, and he was reminded again of the almost-event of the night before. He could still feel Felicity’s mouth on his, the way she desperately wanted him out of his clothes. He laid in bed for several more minutes, willing his body to stop responding to the images of what might’ve been reeling out in his head and trying to identify the source of the music. Oliver finally rolled out of bed and scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling both better and worse after the extra sleep, like he was jet lagged, almost. His phone told him it was 12:30; shit. 

He dressed in clothes he would rather burn at this point and cracked the bedroom door open; the music was definitely coming from inside the apartment, thumping softly from behind a half-open door across the hall from the bathroom. He’d assumed it was a closet every other time he’d passed it, but it was actually a second bedroom. Oliver stepped to the door and peeked in.

The room was empty save for a shiny silver stripper pole and Felicity Smoak. 

She was dressed in black leggings and a hot pink sports bra, her hair pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head. Her back was to him when he first looked in; she was climbing to the very top of the pole, just like he remembered climbing a rope during gym class in High School, except when she reached the ceiling she flipped upside down and spun in a lazy circle back to the floor. 

“Hi,” she said, when one of her slow rotations brought her face to face with him. “You can come in.”

Oliver slipped inside the room, wondering if John was still asleep—hoping he was, to be honest. The space was less than 12 feet by 12 feet; if she’d been any taller this never would’ve worked, but she managed to fly with her legs outstretched, her feet missing the walls by inches. 

“Practicing?” he asked stupidly as he leaned against the wall with his hands behind his back, making sure to stay well out of the way of her flying body. 

She didn’t answer—and really, why would she?—it should be obvious to any moron she was rehearsing a routine. One wall was covered in a collection of mismatched mirrors, most of which looked like they’d either come from Goodwill or a dumpster. Grouped together on the wall they imitated a series of floor length mirrors; it had an eclectic and pleasing effect. 

Felicity eeled about on the floor, undulating provocatively, completely unfazed by his presence in the room. She leapt up and grabbed the pole high above her head and Oliver marveled again at the strength in her core; he felt a jolt of desire down low every time she contracted and threw herself into the next move. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

She caught his eye for a second as she flipped upside down again and hung off the pole by a single knee. 

“I grew up in Vegas. There’s a pole dance class in every strip mall. No pun intended,” she added under her breath.

“Yeah, but—“

Felicity flipped again to land lightly on her feet but kept a hand wrapped around the pole, ready to transition into the next gravity-defying trick. 

“You’re wondering how a girl like me ended up in a job like this.”

It was blunt, and she wasn’t smiling. 

“Well, yeah. Kinda.”

She took two skipping steps with her hand wrapped around the pole and leaped up again. 

“It’s paying my way through college.”

Oliver’s eyes dropped away from her, disappointed; that’s what every stripper said, if she was asked. If Felicity had caught his reaction she didn’t acknowledge it as she sank to the floor into the splits, clearly thinking through the major beats of her routine. 

“I should probably get going,” he said softly, well aware that Slade Wilson would have his hide for being gone this long already; he still needed to get back to his place and clean up. Felicity didn’t look at him when he added, “Should I see if John needs a ride somewhere?”

“We’ve got it covered, man,” a familiar deep voice assured him; John was propped up against the door frame, his good arm cradling the bad one. “We’re heading over to the club in a bit to get my car—“

“And to see if this is tonight’s routine or an audition for the next job,” Felicity added sourly, unplugging her phone from the speakers and finally looking at him again. 

As if he was the one who started all the trouble at the club last night. 

“Put a blanket over that back seat of yours,” Oliver cautioned, thinking of the blood stains being visible in broad daylight. She nodded. 

“Can we drop you somewhere?” John asked.

“I’m out of your way. I’ll get a Lyft.”

John pushed off the door with a groan and Oliver studied him a little closer, concerned. “Do you have someone to look after you?” he asked. Someone better than me, he thought grimly. 

The big man nodded. “I’m good.” He paused for effect. “And call me Dig.”

Oliver felt an actual smile crease his mouth at the offer and John huffed a wry laugh. He began to shuffle slowly back to the living room. 

Felicity seemed to be waiting to get him alone, because as soon as Dig disappeared she took a step closer to Oliver, her fingers twisting together. 

“Will I see you? Later?”

Oliver realized if she didn’t have any info on Ramirez, didn’t even know who Roy Harper was, he really had no reason to get back in touch with her. Unless they were planning on THAT happening again. He swallowed hard and pulled his phone from his back pocket. 

“Number?” he asked tentatively, holding it out for her. Felicity obligingly added her phone number to his contacts and then sent herself a text without asking; somewhere in the living room he heard a chime. 

“Be careful,” she said.

“Take care of yourself,” he countered gently, stepping away when everything in him was screaming to close in on her and finish what they’d started the night before; his hands clenched into fists with the effort to hold still. 

——————————————————————-

Slade and a phalanx of security were gone by the time Oliver made it downtown—finally in clean clothes—an hour later. His partner gave him the rundown; a gang who called themselves Depredador had taken exception to Slade and Ricardo Diaz doing business in their city and had paid the visit to Vertigo-go to let them know. How they’d known the early meet-up for entertainment was going down was a mystery, considering it was a last-minute addition to the plan. Diaz was still vehemently denying it was him; he’d lost two men in the attack and was vowing revenge on Depredador to anyone who would listen. 

“Where’s Slade now?” Oliver asked with a twist of unease in his gut. 

“On his way to Vertigo-go. Looking for that stripper. Angel? You remember her. He got a tip that she’s close with that friend of Rene Ramirez, the Harper kid, and he wants to see what she knows—“ the guy’s eyebrows waggled suggestively—“if you know what I mean.”

Oliver’s blood ran cold.


	7. Chapter 7

Oliver stabbed the hang up button with a vicious swear; that made three complete voicemails left to Felicity’s phone in fifteen minutes; six calls total. He should’ve asked for John’s number before they went their separate ways from her apartment. 

His stomach was in knots the entire drive; was she not answering because Slade had already gotten to her? Dig was hardcore, no doubt about it, but he was in no shape right now to defend her if things took a turn. Oliver swore again and pushed his car a couple more miles over the speed limit. 

He wanted to pull straight around to the employee lot to look for the Mini, but one of their guys was on the door out front; he recognized Oliver’s car and raised a hand in greeting, so Oliver pulled into a space, calming his breathing before getting out to stroll to the door. 

“Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything good?”

The guy tipped his head at the front door. “Boss is in looking for that stripper. Remember her?” He grinned and licked his lips; Oliver forced his fingers to relax before he made a fist. “I told the guys I’d be happy to have a piece of that action, ya know what I mean?”

Oliver kept his expression neutral and pushed on past into the murky interior; the shootout had not improved the looks of the place. A couple of employees were half-heartedly turning tables and chairs right-side up, and two of the dancers—neither of them Felicity—wandered around on the stage, pointing out the various bullet holes in the walls. 

He took one more deep breath before going through the Employees Only door to the back. There were more of their men here, standing around, looking like they were waiting for something to happen. Oliver glanced at the giant hole where the truck had come through at them; it looked like a tornado had ripped through the place. Three Hispanic men were cleaning up debris and preparing to cover the gaping hole with plywood. 

“Where’s Slade?” he growled at one of his guys. He pointed vaguely down the hall, in the direction of the next-to-last door; Oliver’s heart threatened to gallop, but he pushed the fear away and headed in that direction. 

Slade Wilson was standing just inside Felicity’s makeshift dressing room amidst the scattered cleaning supplies and dozens of rolls of toilet paper displaced during their getaway. His expression was hard to read, because he was turned toward a very large bouncer, tree trunk arms folded and leaning nonchalantly against the dressing table. 

Only Oliver knew he was leaning because he was too weak to stand. 

“Find her?” he asked shortly, letting the frown on his face tell a story of annoyance instead of worry. 

Slade half turned to set his eye on him. “Tommy. Nice of you to join us.” There was nothing quite like sarcasm delivered in an Australian accent. Oliver let the barb go; his eyes flicked to indicate Dig. 

“He know anything?”

Slade stared harder. “This wasn’t the bouncer you patched up last night?”

A slight head shake from Oliver. “I remember this guy. From last week. But I never saw him last night. The guy I helped was bigger.” Slight eye roll from Dig, playing it up. Or maybe not. “And blonde.”

Slade turned back to another member of their outfit—one of the more cerebral ones—by the name of Rooney. “Wasn’t there a guy like that at the front door when we got here last night?” Rooney nodded, thoughtful. Slade tipped his head to the side in dismissal. “Go ask around.”

Oliver had pulled that description from his memory bank, but he had no idea what might’ve happened to the blonde bouncer in question. He was either about to be extremely lucky or in very deep shit, but in the meantime he used Slade’s distraction giving orders to flick a questioning glance at Dig; the skin around the man’s eyes tightened just a bit.

Telling him she wasn’t here. 

Oliver felt the oxygen return to the room and shifted his weight. 

“You have somebody going to her place?”

Slade turned back to him. “Got her address out of the manager. The guys just left.” There was a moment of staring between them; Oliver couldn’t ask to go too, and Slade was hesitating, testing him. 

“Get the address from Rooney and make sure they’re not screwing anything up,” Slade finally growled. Oliver nodded and turned away, not daring to look at Dig again.

Keeping his strides oh-so measured as he walked away. 

He did seek out Rooney for the address for cover, though it took up precious seconds; he even pulled out of the parking lot at a reasonable speed, like someone sent to do a job but not particularly in a rush about it. 

Oliver made sure to cut over a street early and come in from the back, to scope out the situation and look for her car. Just as he was about to make the turn onto the street in front of her building, a flash of movement caught his eye; a man in a red hoodie was climbing out the window of Felicity’s apartment. 

He pictured the layout in his head; that would be her bedroom. The guy lowered himself with his arms until he hung by just his fingertips on the ledge and then dropped straight to the ground, disappearing into some bushes. Oliver stayed put and watched for his head to appear; when it did he gripped the steering wheel tight.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. 

It was Roy Harper. 

He frowned in thought; go after Harper, or check on Felicity? He hesitated two beats and then finished the turn into the street to park at the curb; the pull to protect her was too strong. 

The lobby and stairs were empty, ditto the second floor hallway. The quiet disturbed him; the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he approached the slightly-open door to her apartment. He knocked before entering; coming in unannounced when he knew everyone in the room would be armed was a very bad idea. 

Slade had apparently only sent two guys, both of whom were milling about, one poking under a stack of magazines, the other opening and closing the door to the fridge. Aimless. Stupid. 

Oliver’s eyes flew to the couch and the bloodstained cushions; a blanket had been laid over the spot, either a genius move or pure dumb luck. 

“She’s not here?”

The guy with his hand on the fridge handle looked up, surprised to see him. 

“Hey Tommy.” He shook his head slowly. “No sign of her.”

Oliver wanted to breathe a sigh of relief—or sit down for a minute and get his heart rate under control—but instead he conducted his own search, playing up the annoyance of not finding their target. He checked the bathroom for signs that she might’ve packed a few things to go away, but everything appeared to be in order. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and stared for just a second, imagining Felicity bent over the sink in front of him. Wanting him. He moved on.

Her bedroom was of particular interest; he wanted to know if there was evidence Harper had been there recently. They must be good friends, at least, if she was letting him stay in her apartment alone. Were they more than friends? Oliver exhaled deeply through his nose and pushed THOSE thoughts aside too. 

The bed had been slept in, but its last occupant could’ve been him; he couldn’t remember if he’d made any effort to make it up before he left. Probably not. There were no men’s clothes lying around for sure, which was a relief. 

He only popped his head into the second bedroom; there wasn’t anything to see besides the pole. He was pulling his head black into the hallway when one of the goons snorted. 

“A stripper pole. Can you believe that shit?”

“We coulda made her dance,” the other one, fridge guy, added with a sigh. 

Oliver ignored both comments, striding back down the hall toward the front door. “You two get back to Slade,” he ordered gruffly. 

“Where you goin’?” A challenge, maybe. 

Oliver didn’t look back. “I have another lead to follow.”

He pulled away in his car before the other two even made it to the sidewalk out front; he didn’t want to take the chance of being followed out of curiosity. He drove a few blocks to the pharmacy and parked in the lot, then made yet another call to Felicity. Still nothing. 

His finger scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he wanted and sent the call through. 

“Hello?”

“Curtis. I need a favor.”

“I don’t think—“

“It’s important. And time sensitive. Please.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Whaddaya need?”

Oliver rattled off a license plate number; Felicity’s plate, the one he’d removed from her car the night before, memorized in that way he had of retaining seemingly random details. 

“You need to know who owns it?”

“No, I need you to find it. On the Hub City traffic cams.” He gave the address for Vertigo-go. “Start from that address—“ he paused to check the clock in the car—“45 minutes ago. It’s a Mini Cooper.”

Curtis sighed softly over the phone. “Oliver...is this the best use of your time? I know you want answers, but it won’t bring Sara back. I can’t keep—“

“This isn’t about Sara,” Oliver corrected, a little louder than necessary, probably. “A woman’s life is in danger, Curtis. Please.”

“Okay,” he said finally. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”

Oliver used the downtime to go into the pharmacy and grab a pre-packaged sandwich and a bottle of water. He sat in the car and ate, mulling over the Roy Harper discovery; he realized halfway through the sandwich that it must’ve been Harper she was texting before she drove them to her apartment the night before. She was probably warning him to get out. 

He balled up the wrapper and laid his head back against the seat to grab another couple minute’s sleep, but just as he was drifting off his phone rang. It was Curtis, returning his call. 

“Found her.” 

Oliver loaded the address into his nav system and floored it.

——————————————————————

He was waiting, leaned against her car, as she came down the sidewalk carrying a backpack over one shoulder.

“You were serious when you said you were putting yourself through college,” he said, conversationally. 

Felicity smiled, but her eyes were hard. Cynical. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever does.”

“Felicity...”

“Look, Tommy. I’m grateful for what you did last night, for me and Dig. Really. Thanks. But whatever that was, between us...after. That shouldn’t have happened. It can’t happen.”

“Because of Roy Harper?”

“Wha-what?” Felicity’s eyes went full-on deer-in-headlights.

“When he didn’t find you at the club, Slade Wilson sent a couple of goons to your apartment just now. I saw Harper climbing out your bedroom window, Felicity.” He paused for effect, watching her stare at him with wide eyes. “He your boyfriend?”

He’d tried like hell to keep any emotion out of his voice, but her eyes changed from shocked to outraged in a blink, a good indication he’d failed miserably. Felicity’s mouth opened and then closed; she was clearly considering her words, which probably wasn’t good news for him. 

“I don’t know what happened with your girl, Tommy, but it’s clear I’m never going to be able to compete. And I’m not interested in being a consolation prize.”

Ouch. Oliver held her gaze, though it cost him. He noticed she’d skimmed over his mention of Roy, and refused to be baited by the misdirect. There was a long pause as they stared each other down. 

Oliver sighed. “It’s not safe to go back to your apartment right now. You want something to eat?” She continued to stare at him, unsure. “You can tell me about Roy.” 

He took a deep, steadying breath. “And I’ll tell you about Sara.”


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver regretted the sandwich he’d just eaten when she suggested Big Belly Burger; he sat with a basket of fries and watched Felicity tear into a double cheeseburger and milkshake with gusto. 

“So. Roy.”

She swallowed her bite and gave him a long hard look. “Can I trust you?”

He almost said something flippant; the last 48 hours had been a hell of a ride. But instead he swallowed and looked her in the eye without blinking. “You can trust me.”

Felicity nodded and set her burger back in its basket to wipe her fingers. 

“Roy was hired a few days before me. He was nice to me. Showed me around.”

“He the one who got you your own dressing room?” Oliver couldn’t help the smirk that followed; that little closet was ridiculous.

“No, that was Dig.” She tipped her head and pooched out her lips, pretending to be mad at his dis. “I thought it was sweet.”

Oliver popped a fry into his mouth. “Were you friends with Rene too?”

Felicity shrugged. “I didn’t go out of my way to hang out with him, if that’s what you mean.” She frowned, a little crinkle between her brows that Oliver wanted to reach out and touch. “He called me Blondie.” She made a face. 

“Were you there? The night he was killed?”

She shook her head no with a small shudder, her eyes dropping to her burger. “I was supposed to be, but I had a big test the next day, so I traded shifts with somebody.”

“Has Roy been staying with you since then, Felicity?” Quiet. Calm. She hesitated before speaking.

“He showed up at my place that night, completely freaked out—“ she splayed her hands in emphasis—“so I let him sleep on the couch. He would only say that somebody knifed Rene in the club, and that he saw who did it and he needed to hide out in case they were looking for him.”

Oliver’s hands tightened into fists under the table, thinking of this punk putting Felicity in danger because he was scared. 

“Did he ever go back to Vertigo-go?”

“Nope. I nabbed his last check on payday when I picked up mine.” She went after her burger again. “He comes and goes from my apartment at all hours. I don’t know what he does when he’s not there. I really don’t.”

Oliver dipped his chin to get her attention, then made sure she was looking him in the eye. “I believe you.”

She nodded and took another bite, chewing and swallowing before she said, “Your turn.”  
He sipped his water to gather his thoughts, then leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. 

“Sara was a good friend.”

Felicity frowned again, clearly unconvinced. “I told you the truth,” she pointed out softly. 

“I know.” He huffed a laugh with no humor in it. “This is hard.”

She wiggled in her seat, sitting up straighter. “Okay. We’ll start simple. How did you meet?”

“She was a bartender at a place I used to go to.”

“I bet she was pretty.”

“She was beautiful.”

Felicity nodded once, suspicions confirmed. “Were you...?” She tipped her head and quirked her brows playfully.

Oliver glanced up and away, remembering. “Never exclusively. She was...kind of a free spirit. But always up front about it,” he added, wanting to protect her memory. For some reason he needed Felicity to approve of her.

“What happened?” Her voice had dropped and her hands stilled on the table, waiting to hear a sad story. 

“She was killed in a burglary attempt, a year and a half ago. They never caught who did it.”

“Is that why you’re so obsessed with Rene’s murder? Do you think it’s the same person or something?”

Oliver shook his head gently. “No, I don’t see how it could be. We lived in Starling City. Her death was just a random act of violence.” 

“Still...” Felicity sighed.

He nodded. “Still.”

They stared at each other for a long moment in mutual understanding. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“Thank you.”

A text message chimed at their table and they both went for their phones. It was his, from Curtis. 

DID YOU FIND HER? 

ALL GOOD, he texted back. THANKS. 

When he looked up Felicity was busy on her own phone. He’d made her reach out to Dig first thing, because Oliver knew he’d be worried. He took a minute to watch her, head bent as she scrolled. What are you doing?, he chided himself. Yours is the last situation she needs to be in. He ran a hand up through his hair and went for his wallet. 

“I’m gonna go pay,” he said, sliding out of the booth and standing. She nodded acknowledgement without looking up.

—————————————————————-

His phone, momentarily abandoned on the table, chimed a second time. Felicity reached out and spun it with her fingers, neck craning to try to catch Tommy, but he was already too far away, leaning on the order counter casually and chatting with their server as she rung him up. 

In the process of pushing it back across the table Felicity’s eyes dropped, almost by accident, to the screen. 

YOU’RE WELCOME. BUT THIS WAS THE LAST FAVOR, OLIVER. 

Felicity stared at the message, her heart suddenly beating fast. 

Who the hell was Oliver?

—————————————————————-

She was quiet when he returned to the booth, her chattiness gone; Oliver figured it was everything catching up with her, or maybe the uncertainty of going back to her apartment now that Slade knew where she lived. 

“You really need to ditch that car, at least for a few days,” he advised somberly, wanting her to make eye contact so he could recapture the easy way they’d been with each other. He needed to be sure of her.

She did look up, but it was with a frown of annoyance. “I’m sorry, I can’t afford to go out and buy another one at the moment.” She huffed a sigh at the end of her snarky comment and looked away.

Oliver watched her closely, wondering if he’d only imagined the soul-baring conversation they’d just had over dinner. “Sorry. I know. I didn’t mean...” He sighed as well, feeling terrible. “I meant get a rental or something.” 

Felicity threw up her hands dramatically, clearly saying “like that’s gonna happen” to his suggestion. 

“Look,” he said, trying to salvage what he could of this conversation, “is there a lot at the school where you can park it overnight, just until we figure out how to handle all this?” Oliver’s plan at this point was to send her home with John so he would be free to handle Slade, but he wasn’t ready to say that yet. 

Felicity smoothed a hand over the top of her head and ran her ponytail through her fingers in thought as she scooted out of the booth and stood. “Since it’s Friday, yeah. There’s a lot I can leave it in over the weekend.”

Oliver nodded, happy with this solution. “Good. I’ll follow you over. You think you could stay with Dig tonight? Until we can make sure they’re not still on your apartment.” They would be, no question, but he didn’t want to freak her out. 

“He told me he lives with his brother and sister-in-law, you know, temporarily.” Felicity crossed her arms and cocked a hip with attitude. “So I would guess no.”

Oliver huffed a sigh; why did everything have to be so complicated? “Okay. Let’s take care of your car first and then worry about the next step.”

——————————————————————-

He sat with his engine running at the curb while Felicity drove into the lot and parked; she’d been gone a long time, but it was a big lot and already pretty full. He used the time to think about the next steps from here; he needed to get her someplace safe for the night. His place was the most natural choice, though he hated to add one more thread to their connection. Still...Slade knew what side of town he lived on but not the address, so keeping her with him would probably be safe enough. 

Keeping their hands off each other while they were alone overnight in his apartment, on the other hand...

Oliver ran a hand through his hair and checked the clock: She’d been gone twelve minutes. The lot wasn’t THAT big. Oliver felt his heart rate increase as he craned his neck to look for her; he pulled into the lot and drove up and down the rows searching for her car. 

It was parked at the back, near a pedestrian-only entrance that gave access to the university’s sports fields and what looked to be a recreational center. The Mini was empty and locked. 

Either she’d been randomly nabbed in broad daylight, or Felicity Smoak had just managed to ditch him. 

——————————————————————

Felicity hid out in the women’s locker room of the rec center to catch her breath and fumble through her backpack for her phone; her hands shook as she texted Dig to come get her because Tommy was maybe definitely not who he said he was and her apartment wasn’t safe and she needed someplace to go and somebody to explain to her what the hell had happened to her life all of a sudden. 

And also what she was supposed to do now that she’d fallen for this guy, whoever he was.

Shit.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday!  
> You’re getting two today; one now, one tonight.  
> Thanks for the response so far. I love hearing from you!

He didn’t expect to get a response back but he texted her anyway, then looked up John’s number, grateful he’d asked Felicity for it as soon as they sat down at Big Belly. He didn’t even bother messaging first.

“It’s Tommy,” he said, tight and anxious, as soon as the other man answered. “Have you heard from Felicity? I lost her.”

“I’m on my way to her now. What did you do?” It was a growl; whether it was meant as a joke or not, Oliver couldn’t tell. 

“Nothing! We had dinner, I went to pay, when I came back she would hardly look at me. She was parking her car on the campus lot and never came back. I thought—“ He didn’t finish his sentence; the fingers of his free hand smoothed his eyebrows as he pictured all the things that could’ve happened to her. 

“Calm down. She’s freaked out over something, but she’s safe. Let me talk to her first, see what’s up, then I’ll call you back.”

Oliver hung up and scanned the grounds; with only a few minute’s head start she had to be close. He could probably flush her out of hiding before John showed up, but that would no doubt make it worse. Whatever the hell IT was. 

He drove back out of the lot and parked on the street to wait. 

—————————————————————-

John’s side was on fire by the time he’d walked from the parking lot to the far end of the rec center and the women’s locker room. She poked her head out the door when he knocked like she expected a SWAT team to be waiting for her. 

“It’s just me,” he assured her, starting to cross his arms out of habit and immediately regretting it. “Can we sit?” he asked, nodding toward a bench across the hall. 

Felicity still looked like she was expecting an ambush, but she came out and sat obediently. 

“What happened? Did Tommy do something?”

She started to shake her head, then thought better of it and shrugged instead. “It wasn’t anything he DID, it was something I SAW.”  
She told him about the text she’d accidentally seen while John rubbed a hand over his mouth, considering. 

“Did you ask him about it?”

Her eyes went wide with exasperation. “What do YOU think? I got the hell out of there and texted you,” she huffed. 

He couldn’t dispute that had been a good move, but it didn’t exactly get them answers either. On the one hand, they really didn’t need Tommy anymore. On the other hand, he would be able to keep them abreast of Slade’s plans, and he was probably pretty handy in a fight. He’d certainly kept his cool in that attack on the club, and John knew for sure he would’ve been a dead man without his medical help. 

“I say we just ask him. I figure we both owe him the chance to explain, yes?”

Felicity bit her lip but finally nodded. John laid a hand on her knee.

“Now, you wanna tell me why you look like the sun rises off the guy every time either of us says his name?”

“Uh, what?” Her face went adorably pink.

“This morning, in your apartment, you looked like you couldn’t wait to introduce him to your mother.”

Felicity snorted but wouldn’t meet his eye. “Clearly you’ve never met my mother.”

“Felicity,” he warned softly, “be careful with this one. Even if we get a good explanation for the text, he’s still mixed up with a very bad crowd.”

“I know.” A whisper. 

John nodded once and reached for his phone to dial Tommy. He answered immediately.

“I have her. She’s safe.” John paused for effect. “Who’s Oliver?”

—————————————————————-

And just like that the oxygen was sucked out of the car. Mother. Fucker. Oliver stared out the windshield at nothing, all his carefully-built parameters shifting at once. 

“Don’t make me tell you over the phone, John,” he finally managed, feeling like he was being strangled by invisible hands. Silence hung between them for several seconds; he pictured Dig sharing a look with Felicity, weighing their decision. 

“Okay,” John said finally. “We’ll be in the stands of the football stadium.” Then he ended the call. 

Oliver set the phone down with lifeless fingers, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Breathe, he schooled himself, beginning to pant as adrenaline flooded his system. Focus. He slowly gained control of his nervous system and brought everything back on line, using the walk to the stadium to regulate his breathing and calm his racing heart. 

Anybody who said the truth would set you free had never been an undercover cop. 

He saw them long before he made it inside the stadium fence, sitting high up on the bleachers on the home side. It was a good meeting place from their standpoint; close to the parking lot and Dig’s car, plus the track was dotted with walkers and runners, plenty of witnesses if things between them and him threatened to go south.

Oliver climbed slowly, calmly, quieting the million contingency plans swirling around in his head, especially the ones that began with the word ‘run’. John was watching him sedately, but there was no way he wasn’t packing. Felicity was hunched over close to his side, busy picking at her fingernails. Nervous.

At the last second he thought about hedging his bets, making up an excuse, but his heart thankfully overruled his galloping brain; he stopped in front of John and offered his hand. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen,” he said. 

John took it and squeezed. “John Diggle.”

Oliver’s gaze slid to the tiny blonde pinned to John’s side, looking back at him now, studying him. Reconciling the name she knew before with the new one; he could read it on her face. 

“Felicity, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she asked, not blinking. Why a fake name, not why was he sorry; that much was plain. 

“I’m working undercover for the Hub City Police Department. Trying to take Slade Wilson down from the inside.”

Oliver’s gaze flicked to John to gauge his reaction; the man was watching him very carefully. 

“What’s your connection to Rene Ramirez?” John asked; Felicity must’ve shared that he’d been asking questions, because Oliver knew he’d never mentioned the dead man’s name while Dig was around. 

“He was an informant for the Hub City PD, and working with me specifically on this case.” THAT got an interesting reaction from Dig; Oliver filed that away for later. 

“And Roy Harper?”

“The night he was killed Rene was meeting with someone who could get us the rest of the evidence we need to finally move on Slade. Either he was killed by this person or by someone who didn’t want the two of them to meet. Whichever it was, Harper witnessed the murder, and I need to know what he knows.”

A minute of silence settled over the three of them; it was a beautiful day, sunny but not too warm, a breeze playing around them, whipping Felicity’s ponytail. The longer they stayed that way the better Oliver felt, because it wasn’t a tense or suspicious silence. It felt like the beginning of something, not the end. 

“So the Depredador attack...” 

Oliver shrugged. “Just shitty timing, as far as I can see. Unless Harper has evidence to the contrary.”

Dig nodded, satisfied with that answer, apparently.

“Felicity, I really need to meet with Roy. Can you set it up?”

She nodded, looking reluctant; whether she still wasn’t sure she could trust him, or wasn’t sure Harper would cooperate, he couldn’t tell. 

“If you two are okay, I really need to get back. I told the goons in her apartment that I was chasing a lead, but Slade’s going to have questions.” He stared John down, waiting for confirmation that he could leave Felicity in his care. The man’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck, unsure. 

“I’m crashing with my brother at the moment, man. There won’t be room...” he trailed off, looking extremely guilty all of a sudden. 

Oliver swallowed his sigh; complications. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Dig an address. “Both of you stay with me tonight. I don’t know how late I’ll be.” He fished in his pocket for his key ring and extracted the spare, handing it over to John, who nodded thanks. 

He was turning to start back down the bleachers when her voice stopped him. 

“Is that what you were in Starling City? An undercover cop?”

He looked back over his shoulder at her; Felicity was looking him in the eye, though the sun shining over his shoulder made her squint. 

“No,” he answered, quietly. “I was a homicide detective.”


	10. Chapter 10

The day Sara died he woke up in her apartment alone. He didn’t stay over often, and he knew he wasn’t the only occupant of her bed; he was at peace with that, though part of him hoped one day she would choose him exclusively. 

That morning he thought ‘one day’ might happen sooner than later; two plane tickets to Hawaii sat in his email inbox, waiting for the next day. She’d agreed to go when he brought it up way back on New Year’s Day, both of them still a little hungover from partying. He’d be paying off the credit card bill for the next two years, but he would never regret it. One more work shift and then he’d have her all to himself for a whole week. 

It was a quiet day, which gave him plenty of time to catch up on paperwork; in a moment of brutal honesty Sara had once confessed that the idea of dating a cop scared her, because of the danger. But he had chuckled at that, because he wasn’t a uni anymore; being a detective wasn’t like it looked on tv. It was mostly making phone calls and filling out reports. 

The call came just before the end of his shift, when he was full-on thinking about that last load of laundry he needed to do before he could pack: A Robbery/Homicide had been committed in a bar a few blocks away. He knew the name of the place, but had never been inside. His partner drove. 

The uni on the door recognized him, ribbed him about his fancy vacation coming up; they all knew he was taking a girl, but no one knew it was Sara because he’d never even mentioned her name. The place was dark, even with the sun still high in the sky outside. Another cop hooked a thumb over his shoulder to tell them what they’d been called in to see was behind the bar.

He knew two things as he rounded the corner and looked down: He wouldn’t be allowed to work the investigation if they found out he knew the vic, and he would never, ever, be the same person he’d been the second before he saw Sara’s body, face-up and staring in death.

His hand sought the edge of the bar to steady himself; his partner missed the move as he had already stepped aside to question the witness, a server and a friend of Sara’s, apparently. He could hear the fragmented sentences through her choked sobs: Sara worked at another bar, but sometimes filled in here to help out. She’d taken the shift at the last minute to cover for a sick friend, was just setting up for the night when the guy came in, hopped up on something and looking for enough cash to cover his next fix. Sara’d given him the money—hadn’t resisted at all—but he’d shot her anyway. 

He forced himself to step behind the bar with her, to crouch down in the narrow space without disturbing her body, to ghost over her with gloved hands as if she was a stranger. Keep breathing, he chanted in his head as his vision tunneled. Her eyes, wide and frozen, looked utterly surprised. She had always tried to see the best in everyone; Sara took in stray people the way other women took in stray animals. No doubt she’d been thinking she could talk the guy into hanging around for a cup of coffee, had probably handed him the money with the promise of an order of fries on the house, just to get something into his system besides drugs. 

He’d never heard of anyone she’d ever met who didn’t fall in love with her immediately; she must’ve been very shocked to find herself dying at the hand of a fellow human being.

He broke the rules and closed her eyelids, then pulled his hands back and stood on shaking legs; he had never been a praying man, but he did that day as he kept his steps measured and even to the restroom in the back, begging whatever higher power might be interested that he make it to the safety of a stall before he lost his composure.

Hawaii forgotten, he took his week of vacation to stay blind-drunk at home; it was the only way he could sleep. He came back and threw himself into the investigation, night and day, until his partner side-eyed him and the police chief called him in for a chat. He was running himself ragged, wearing thin in front of their eyes; was there some problem at home, something they needed to know about?

The investigation dragged on, unsolved, but junkies who robbed bars overdosed everyday; the perp was probably already dead. The file folder on Sara’s murder fell further under his pile of paperwork, given its own burial under fresher, more urgent cases.

Two months from the day she died he quit the force, ended his apartment lease, and drove out of Starling. Coast City took a pass, but Hub City hired him on—the former homicide detective with a stone-cold exterior who was looking to get into something else—because they had a doozy of an undercover assignment and he seemed to have nothing to lose. 

——————————————————————

The very last of the weekday crowd was trickling out of the elevators when Oliver walked into the lobby; everyone he passed thought of Slade Wilson as a successful real estate mogul, businessman, and entrepreneur. Very few beating hearts in this high rise knew he was also an international crime boss, drug lord, and human trafficker. 

And only the strong, steadily-beating heart of Oliver Queen, riding alone in the private elevator to the penthouse, knew the secret to bringing Slade Wilson to his knees. 

Slade was standing behind his desk as Oliver walked in to his office, leaning forward on his fists like an angry Silverback, his single eye ablaze with fury. 

“The blonde bouncer was not only uninjured, he never laid eyes on you after we walked into the club last night.” His delivery was quite measured, considering. He stood straight and moved around the corner of the desk; Oliver continued forward until they were only a foot apart. Squared off. Deadly. 

“You have thirty seconds to convince me you still have my best interests at heart, Tommy, otherwise I snap your neck.”

Oliver didn’t even blink. 

“That stripper. Angel? I know where she is, and I can bring her to you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dig let them into Oliver’s apartment, pocketing the key and guessing correctly at the location of the light switch. A table lamp illuminated a sparse but very clean room. The furniture was mid-range, coordinating; the only accessory was a small fern on an end table, which proved to be artificial. “Furnished,” he speculated quietly when Felicity questioned the boring perfection of the place. 

The longer they were there the more bold she became, venturing to the kitchen—spotless, the fridge minimally stocked, not a Vienna sausage in sight—then the bath, also clean and efficient. There was only one other door, which was closed; presumably the bedroom. Felicity’s face flushed just thinking about it. 

Overall, it felt like the space of someone who wasn’t planning to stay. 

Dig inspected the couch, found it to be a pull-out, and set about opening it up. 

“See if you can find the sheets for this thing,” he said absently, working carefully to avoid pulling a stitch. Felicity tried the bathroom and found a small linen closet; she came back with a set of sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. She’d also found a bottle of aspirin, which she offered him silently. 

“No thanks, I’m good.” Like he only had a small headache and not two recently-acquired bullet wounds. 

They worked together to make up the sofabed and then stood side by side in silence, surveying their work. Neither one of them voiced concern that there would be three of them here tonight and only two places to sleep. 

“I have to go out for a bit,” he said then, not looking at her. “I won’t be far. You’re safe here.”

Her eyes lifted to Dig’s face and he glanced over, holding her gaze. 

“Tom—Oliver...” She’d forgotten which name to use. 

“I’ll be back before he gets here,” he said softly, a reassurance. Felicity’s head jerked back in surprise, or offense.

“I’m not afraid of him—“

“I know you’re not,” he cut her off, then paused to face her. “I do think you’re worried about your self-control.”

Felicity looked down and away; she was blushing furiously. 

“See if you can get ahold of Roy. Set up a meeting for late tonight if you can.”

She nodded, still not looking him in the eye. John waited another breath, in case she wanted to say something else, but when she didn’t speak again he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder before he turned to go. 

Felicity locked the door behind him and blew out a breath; the closed bedroom door still called to her, teasing her with potential secrets. His apartment was so generic, so void of personality, she itched to know if any mementos existed at all.

Mostly she wanted to know if he had a picture of Sara. 

The end tables were easy enough to check; opening them didn’t seem like a violation of privacy since they were in a public room. But they were empty, not even a random coaster or a stray battery. The kitchen drawers were similarly absent of anything interesting. She even checked the medicine cabinet, figuring everybody snooped in there as a general rule anyway. 

Felicity ran her fingers over the cool metal of the bedroom doorknob; twisting it would take half a second. She could be in and out in two deep breaths, enough time to scan for photos, or a random souvenir from a memorable day. 

She tapped her nails on the knob in a nervous rhythm but went no further, deciding not to take something Oliver might eventually want to give her voluntarily. She returned to the living room and curled up in a chair with her phone and her homework to wait.

——————————————————————

Dig was back two hours later, carrying a duffel and a sleeping bag. 

“You look better,” Felicity said without preamble. “Less dead.”

He huffed a laugh. “Thanks.” He dumped his things on the floor by the couch and dropped into the chair next to hers. “You get anywhere with Roy?”

She nodded as she closed her textbook. “He’s on his way.”

Not three minutes later there was a quiet knock at the door; John rose from the chair and unholstered his gun in one smooth motion, gliding to the door and checking the peephole before reaching for the deadbolt. 

The kid in the doorway had a hunted look, wary and a little wild; Felicity, twisted around in her chair so she could see the door, waved him in. Roy’s eyes slid from her to Dig before edging into the apartment.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at her again, his eyes roving over her and her school books. 

Fine,” Felicity assured him as she closed her book and set it on the floor. “Our...friend just has some questions, that’s all.”

Roy moved to her chair and perched on the back; Dig was just beginning to pull the door closed when Oliver appeared in the opening as if conjured from thin air.

“Jesus,” Dig muttered with a glare. “Don’t you make noise?”

The corners of Oliver’s mouth twitched up infinitesimally.

Roy started, ready to jump either direction, but Felicity reached out to settle a hand on his knee and he stilled, watchful. Oliver’s gaze flicked down to the position of her hand; a muscle in his jaw clenched and her pulse quickened in response. 

“You Roy Harper?”

The kid nodded once, a rebellious glint in his eye. Oliver stepped inside and John closed and locked the door behind him.

“You saw who killed Rene Ramirez. I need to know who it was.”

Roy blinked twice. “God, you don’t beat around the bush, do ya.”

Oliver’s brow crinkled in a not-good way; Felicity’s fingers tightened on Roy’s leg in a warning.

Oliver didn’t miss that move either. 

The kid’s gaze dropped, either upset about the subject or unwilling to share. “It was dark. I couldn’t tell—“

“Cut the crap. I know you saw who it was. That’s why you put Felicity in danger by hiding out at her place, scared they’d find you.”

“Hey,” Felicity protested, at the same time John said “Easy,” low and gruff. 

The muscle in Oliver’s jaw jumped again, but he fell silent, leaving the ball in Roy’s court. 

Roy cleared his throat. “You know the gang Depredador? Rene was never in it, but his brother and a couple cousins are.”

“Somebody from Depredador did this?” Oliver questioned with a frown before the kid could elaborate.

Roy glared in annoyance. “Would you let me finish? The night Rene died I was bar backing for him. It was pretty slow; we were just hanging out behind the bar, you know, shootin’ the shit. He hadn’t said anything about meeting up with anyone, but this guy came into the club, made a beeline for the bar, and Rene suddenly decided I needed to check the soda hook ups, so he sent me to the basement. By the time I got back upstairs, he was...dead.”

“The guy...”

Roy shook his head. “You’ve seen how dark it is in there. I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“What does this have to do with Depredador?” John asked. Roy’s eyes slid to the bouncer.

“Rene’s cousin Emilio was there when I got back upstairs. He never usually came around Vertigo-go—none of those guys do—so I thought the timing was weird. The dude was pretty upset—“ Roy glanced around the room of faces with a shrug—“which is understandable. He started screaming about getting revenge. Retribution, whatever.”

Dig shifted his weight and Oliver glanced over at him. 

“You think the cousin was in on the set up?” John murmured. Oliver held his gaze for a long moment before answering.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Then I’m going with you,” John countered, already moving around the sofa bed. 

“You’re in no shape to be going up against Depredador,” Oliver pointed out gruffly. John flashed him a wolffish smile. 

“Call it a near-miraculous recovery.” His gaze shifted to Roy. “You know where we might find Emilio?”

The kid nodded twice, faintly. “I have a pretty good idea.”

—————————————————————

Roy’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head when Oliver slammed Emilio Ramirez’s head down onto the kitchen table. Emilio looked pretty surprised himself. 

The whole operation had taken less than an hour; Roy’s head was still spinning over the speed with which Oliver and John tracked down and cornered their target. If he didn’t know better he’d think they’d been partners for years. 

Emilio squirmed under the grip on his neck, teeth bared with the occasional glint of a gold cap. 

“I’m not tellin’ you nothin’.”

Oliver waved his free hand toward Dig without looking away from Emilio.

“You will after he takes out your kneecap.”

Dig obligingly removed the safety on the Magnum. 

“Okay! Okay. Calm down.” Spittle flew as Emilio saw the light at the end of a gun barrel. “It’s all to bring down Slade Wilson. I was only supposed to hurt Rene, not kill him. But he fought back...” Emilio began to sob; Oliver looked away long enough to raise an eyebrow at John and Roy. 

“Well that didn’t take long,” he quipped, almost cheerful. Oliver turned his attention back to his subject, slamming his head into the table again. “Who wants to take down Slade?”

Emilio cried harder. “Di—Diaz.”

“Ricardo Diaz. The Dragon?” 

A wild horizontal shake of the head from Emilio. 

“Okay.” Oliver let up just a bit on the man’s neck and threw a look to Dig. “We should probably shoot him in the knee anyway, eh?”

“Man, I’m liable to take his whole leg off with this thing,” John played along, clearly enjoying himself. Roy went white as a ghost. Emilio turned green. 

In the end they settled for having a good laugh about the object of their interrogation peeing himself and then strolled out to their car with Roy in their wake, looking dumbfounded. 

“Aren’t you worried about retaliation?”

John shrugged as he reached for the door handle. “That was his abuela’s house. You think Emilio’s gonna try something when he knows we know where his grandmother lives?” 

“That was fun,” Oliver added pleasantly as he pulled out into traffic. But his pleased expression slipped away the further they drove and the more he thought over the implications of this new information. John must’ve been reading his mind, because he cleared his throat as they waited at a stoplight a few blocks from their destination. 

“You could just let Diaz take Slade out, save yourself the trouble of bringing him down from the inside.”

Oliver was quiet a moment, then shook his head once. “That’ll just make Diaz top dog. Nothing will change besides the name on the lease.” His eyes followed the turn their car made at the next corner. “I have to bring everything down, or people will continue to suffer.”

He didn’t see it, but Dig’s eyebrows twitched in a way that said he thought that philosophy was a mistake. 

“How’d it go tonight with your boss, since we’re on the subject.”

Oliver steered into the parking lot of his building and found a space. “I have it handled,” was all he said. 

“Good night, Roy.” Oliver offered his hand as soon as they were all out of the car, clearly not planning on having him up to his place for a celebratory drink. Roy looked a little confused, but shook anyway. 

John snorted silently at the whole exchange, then clapped a giant hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t be hard to find, if we need your help again,” Oliver added over his shoulder as he began to cross the parking lot. “And don’t go back to Felicity’s.”

The girl in question was curled up asleep in the chair where they’d left her, her textbooks still scattered at her feet. The sight of her as he opened the door stopped Oliver’s breath in wonder. Only Dig’s large hand in the middle of his back got him moving again. 

The sound of them coming in woke Felicity up; she stretched like a cat and uttered a little moaning sound that suddenly made Oliver wish he hadn’t invited John to stay over. “Who wants the bathroom first?” he asked, overly loud and awkward as hell. 

“I’ll go.” Dig crouched to grab his duffel and pulled a neatly folded pile of clothes from its depths. Felicity watched him with what Oliver thought was a touch of envy; she was the only one of them with nothing to wear to bed. 

Nothing to wear...STOP IT, Oliver admonished himself. “I can get you a tee shirt to wear—“ he said before Dig cut him off with a smooth “Don’t worry about it”, handing her one of his shirts from the bag. Oliver felt a stab of annoyance, or maybe jealousy. 

Either way, John looked damn smug when he passed by on his way to the bathroom. 

Oliver, at loose ends, drifted back to his bedroom to change for bed, waiting to hear John come out so he could brush his teeth and get the hell out of the way before he had to see Felicity in her nightwear.

He heard the bathroom door open and stepped out into the hall in time to see John flexing the arm nearest him; the bathroom light clearly illuminated a fresh track mark at the bend of his elbow. Oliver’s pulse jumped, surprised and mad at the idea that this man he’d sort of bonded with over the last 24 hours might be a user. John’s eyes lifted to his, and it was plain he was wondering how much Oliver had seen. 

“Night Oliver,” John said, his voice steady as a rock despite the look in his eyes.

“Night.” Oliver traded him places and made himself close the bathroom door softly.

Son of a bitch.


	12. Chapter 12

Felicity and Dig engaged in a quiet but intense argument about who should sleep on the fold out: Felicity cited his recent injuries as proof that he should get it, but then Dig pointed out how far over the end his feet would hang. She conceded the absurdity of it and finally allowed him to roll out his sleeping bag on the other side of the room. 

Despite the late hour, sleep did not come quickly. Dig was breathing deeply and regularly in just a couple of minutes, but Felicity tossed and turned on the creaky mattress and huffed frustrated sighs at the ceiling. The club manager had promised Vertigo-go would be back up and running by the next afternoon, but with everything that had gone on in that crazy crap hole lately she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to quit and find somewhere else to dance. 

One semester to go, she chanted to herself as she finally drifted off.

A shout from behind the closed bedroom door made her bolt upright sometime later. 

“Dig,” she whispered in fear, her pulse racing. Felicity imagined armed goons climbing through Oliver’s bedroom window, or a burglar, or, or, ALIENS...

“I think he’s having a nightmare.” Dig’s deep voice floated to her softly from the floor across the room. “He’s been making noises for about ten minutes.”

Felicity’s fingers twisted in the sheets at her waist. “Should we do something? Wake him up, maybe?” Or maybe not, she thought wildly. He probably slept with a knife under his pillow; he seemed the type. 

She heard Dig roll over with a groan. 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate having me in there comforting him,” he quipped with an air of resignation. “But maybe you should go.”

She still hesitated, not sure he really meant it. Or maybe not sure if his opinion of her would change if she did go in there. 

“You really think so?” she asked in a whisper, but only received a tired grunt in reply. Felicity huffed: Fine. She threw back the covers and tiptoed down the hall. 

—————————————————————-

This dream had started out no differently than the others he’d had recently: He was in the darkened bar, fighting his way to the back, to the girl he knew he would find on the floor. Except this time he actually made it, practically throwing himself over the end of the bar to get to her. And that’s when he saw the wavy blonde hair, the red pouty lips, and the beautiful blue eyes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Oliver came awake sitting up, his hands stretched out into the air as if something had fallen just beyond his reach. His brow was beaded with sweat, his breathing labored. He closed his eyes to focus on getting his pulse under control, and that’s when he heard the doorknob turn. 

Felicity’s head filled the narrow opening of the barely-opened door; even in the dim light he saw her lick her lips. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

He drew in a shuddering breath: It was the first time he’d heard her say his real name. 

“Hey,” he whispered, breathing hard, “I’m okay.”

Silence from her, as she considered the truth of his words. The door opened a little wider, but she didn’t come any further into the room. 

“Do you...” Oliver dropped his eyes to the space in front of him on the bed, suddenly shy and worried she might turn him down. “...want to come in?” he finished, feeling weird and hopeful at the same time. Weirdly hopeful. 

One bare leg advanced through the opening between door and frame and then the rest of her was in the room and she was turning to close the door as quietly as possible. John’s tee shirt was enormously wide on her but not particularly long; he got a view of her calves and thighs that made him swallow hard. 

Felicity padded silently the couple of steps to his bed and stood there with her fingers tangled in front of her, uncertain. The neck of the tee had fallen off one shoulder, and Oliver had to try very hard not to reach out and caress the skin revealed there. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” The dream, nightmare, whatever. He wanted to say no, to pretend nothing had happened, hoping she—and Dig, oh god—had only imagined him yelling in the darkness like a little kid afraid there were monsters under his bed. 

But instead of turning her down he patted the mattress in invitation. 

She hesitated a breath before lifting a knee and sliding it onto the bed just past his feet. Oliver rested his arms on his pulled-up knees and hung his head; Felicity was sort of perched there, her other gorgeous leg stretched out behind her and still resting on the floor—like she couldn’t quite commit to the bed idea 100%—that damned tee still exposing her collarbone and shoulder. From nightmare to hard-on in seconds flat; holy shit. 

“Was it about Sara?” she asked, just above a whisper. 

Oliver took a long deep breath. “Usually.” He finally looked up at her. “This time it was about you.”

She made a little “Oh” sound and reached for his sheet-covered knee but he intercepted her hand with one of his, entwining his fingers with hers and making her suck in a breath. In one smooth motion she was completely on the bed and pushing toward him—he didn’t think he was pulling her, or maybe just a little—and as he stretched his legs flat on the bed she sort of scrambled over them and shifted forward so he could raise his knees again and leave her straddling his hips. 

“Oliver,” she whispered, the lightest of sighs. 

He shivered, done in once again by the sound of his name on her lips; Felicity dove forward, bypassing his mouth in favor of a spot at the edge of his jaw, just below his earlobe. He gasped, his mouth falling open wordlessly as she left a line of kisses up behind his ear and then back along his jaw. He still had ahold of one of her hands; her other one wandered over his neck and jaw before sliding up the back of his head into his hair. Oliver groaned. 

Her hips jumped back once in surprise when his erection made itself known between them, but almost immediately she ground down on him, making him see stars. Oliver’s free hand slid up her thigh, under her shirt, and skated up her ribcage to her breast, stopping only when he could graze her nipple with his thumb. She reacted strongly, leaving off kissing him to arch her back and grinding even harder. The urge to flip her onto the bed and explore every inch of her with his tongue made him moan. 

“Are we doing this?” he whispered, pushing past his frenzy of desire to make himself think clearly for a second. He was ready—god was he ready—but they were very much not alone in this apartment, and he was pretty sure its other occupant would do his best to snap him in half if he disapproved of their behavior. 

She wasn’t letting up, and that hand in his hair was now wandering decidedly south; maybe she hadn’t heard him. 

“Felicity,” he murmured. Her kisses had moved to his collarbone, then the line of his shoulder; she paused to concentrate on swirling her tongue over a small scar there. It was from a decade-old bullet wound, but she didn’t know that yet. 

Because they hadn’t taken any time to learn stuff like that. 

It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him; Oliver wrangled her wildly exploring hand and leaned away from her kisses until she looked up. 

“Hey,” he cautioned. “Dig’s in the next room.”

Felicity’s muscles relaxed and she sank back into his lap in what felt like defeat. 

“You don’t want to—“

“No, I do—“

“—with a stripper,” she finished over the top of his protest, her jaw already set and her eyes going hard. Oliver huffed a sigh. 

“Felicity, dammit...” he paused to look away and collect his thoughts before he made this worse. When he looked back she was staring at him intently. “Felicity,” he sighed, “I am completely and totally crazy about you. I want you so bad I can’t see straight.” Her expression softened. “But the last couple of days have been...A LOT, and we’re not alone in an apartment that I know from experience has very thin walls. And I just...”

He dropped his head again, not sure how to tell her he wanted to wait until they had time to take all night if they wanted, and enough privacy to make all the noises he was dying to pull out of her. He could have her immediately—and god did he want that—but not hurried and hushed and wondering if the very large man in the next room was listening.

Felicity blinked once and licked her lips, and Oliver almost took it all back and flipped her onto the mattress anyway, but then she nodded.

“Your sofa mattress sucks,” she grumbled mildly, ready to hike her leg off of his middle and head back to the living room, but he put both hands on her waist to hold her still. 

“I...” He paused and licked his lips. “I think I’d sleep better if you stayed with me.”

—————————————————————-

Oliver’s phone chiming with a text finally woke him. He cracked an eyelid and studied the play of light on the far wall; it was probably close to eight o’clock in the morning. His left side was warmer than his right because of the body tucked up against him and his left arm, sandwiched between them, had gone slightly achy from being in the same position all night. 

They had been holding hands, fingers entwined, since they fell asleep. 

His phone chimed a second time and she stirred slightly with an adorable little groan. Oliver could just reach it on the nightstand without shifting and disturbing her further; he cursed to himself when he realized he’d forgotten to put it on the charger. 

The message was from Slade:

DOCKS TONIGHT. WHERE IS THE ANGEL YOU PROMISED ME?

Oliver pushed down the urge to let his pulse race in fear as his words to his boss the night before came back to him. “That stripper. Angel? I know where she is, and I can bring her to you.”

It had seemed like an easy thing in the moment; it was a bid to save his own life as he stood in front of Slade Wilson, the enemy disguised as a trusted advisor. I can protect her, he’d thought, even as the words were coming out of his mouth. 

But now he wasn’t so sure. 

She grumbled again and he set the phone down, text unanswered, to run a hand over her hair. 

“Morning,” he murmured. 

“Have any more bad dreams?” she mumbled against his shoulder as she stretched out along his side. 

“Not a single one,” he confirmed. “Thank you.”

Felicity made a sort of Mmmm noise and hitched a leg up over his thighs in a move that made him shiver. 

“I wonder if Dig’s still asleep.” She said it in a very seductive purr that stirred all kinds of things inside him. Oliver untangled their fingers and shifted his arm enough to wrap it around her shoulders.

“Does he do drugs?” Oliver asked, quietly and oh-so casually. The way Felicity’s body froze he figured she was surprised by the question.

“Dig? Are you kidding? He hardly even drinks.”

“So you’ve never seen him...”

Felicity pushed up on her elbow to look him in the eye; the giant tee shirt gaped open at the neck, giving him a fantastic view he was trying to ignore for the sake of his sanity. “Absolutely not. Where is this crazy idea coming from, anyway?”

Oliver shrugged and took hold of the hand she’d flattened onto his chest. “I saw something on his arm last night, looked like a track mark. I just needed to ask.”

A little frown formed between her eyes and she stared off above his head for a moment. 

“He left for a couple of hours last night and came back looking 100% better, but he didn’t explain where he’d been or what he’d been doing.” She looked back at Oliver. “You think he took something...?”

Oliver sighed. “I don’t know. Hell, I don’t know if I CARE, ‘cause I’m gonna need him anyway.”

“For what? What’s going on?”

Oliver realized immediately he should’ve kept his mouth shut; he sighed and squeezed her hand. “Let’s wait until we have John with us, so I only have to explain it once.”

Felicity’s forehead was still crinkly with thought, but she nodded softly. She stretched her neck up to kiss the underside of his jaw and he groaned softly.

“Felicity...” A whispered warning, or maybe a plea. She pulled back with a wicked gleam in her eye. 

“I feel bad, you know?” The purr in her voice was back. “You were so accommodating to let me get off the night we met, but I haven’t done anything for you...”

Her head was already under the covers and heading south. He should stop her, explain again why he thought they should wait. 

But by then she had her mouth on him and Oliver’s eyes were rolling back into his head. 

——————————————————————-

John was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when Felicity entered the room and perched in the chair opposite him.

Oliver was in the shower. 

“Thanks for being quiet,” Dig said cheekily, his mouth poised at the rim of his mug. 

“Nothing happened,” she assured him with a huff and an eye roll. Although something had, of course, just now, to Oliver anyway. Felicity tried not to smile thinking about it. 

“What happens today?” she asked, steering their conversation away from anymore talk about sex that might or might not be happening. Dig shrugged. 

“Dunno. Guess we’ll have to wait and ask your boyfriend.”

Felicity flipped him off mildly, making him chuckle.

—————————————————————-

The three of them were halfway through a breakfast of pancakes and companionable silence before Oliver finally spoke up. 

“Depredador’s attack on the club interrupted a deal between Slade and Diaz that was going to go down later that night at the docks.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “The exchange is back on, rescheduled for tonight.”

“You gonna be there?” Dig asked.

Oliver nodded. “I have to be. Can’t blow my cover.” Another pause. A meaningful look. “You were pretty good last night helping me run down our buddy Emilio. You think you could keep looking for whoever came into the club to talk to Rene the night he died? I still need that evidence.”

“You can’t just sting Slade at the docks tonight?”

“One charge won’t stick. I’ll need the whole file when he take him in, otherwise he and his team of lawyers will not only walk right out of the precinct, they’ll slap us with a lawsuit to boot.”

John nodded into his coffee cup. “I’ll try Vertigo-go again. They’ll trust me more than you anyway. Maybe somebody saw who he was, or what happened to him after the attack on Rene.”

“Take Roy with you. Maybe something will jog his memory while he’s there.”

“Is that safe?” Felicity had paused with her fork hanging over the remains of her breakfast, her eyes wide. “What if Slade’s goons are still hanging out at the club and see Roy?”

Oliver shook his head. “They’re going to be busy elsewhere. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And what about me? Am I stuck here til you guys get done playing cops and robbers? I need to get back to work, whether it’s at Vertigo-go or somewhere else. I have a tuition payment due.”

Oliver couldn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“There’s something you have to do too.” He took a deep breath and made himself look at her before he went on. 

“But you’re not going to like it.”


	13. Chapter 13

The force of the slap made Oliver’s ears ring and his eyes water. 

Dig chewed his last bite thoughtfully as they both listened to the bathroom door slam, then he smirked. “I imagine that’s not the first time you’ve had that happen,” he teased. Though his expression was stormy, he was enjoying himself immensely. “You keep digging yourself deeper and deeper, don’t you.”

Oliver rubbed his cheek gingerly, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Better go talk to her before she sets your apartment on fire,” Dig added, cool as a cucumber with his coffee mug at his lips. Oliver pushed himself to his feet like an eighty year old man and trudged after Felicity. 

His hand paused, knuckles ready to rap on the door, but flipped instead to lay palm flat against its surface. “Felicity, I’m sorry...”

“Go to hell. I’m not doing it.”

His forehead joined his hand against the door. “I shouldn’t have done it, I know. Not without asking.”

“You’re damn right. You’re not the boss of me. You’re not my...pimp.” She spit the word out, full of venom and despair. Felicity was unraveling fast, he could hear it in her voice. 

“It was totally stupid. You don’t have to...I’ll...I’ll think of something else.” Oliver huffed a sigh. “Will you come out, please? So I can see you?”

He heard her sniff and his own throat caught in sympathy; what was it about this girl that had him tangled up emotionally with everything she was feeling? He hated it, yet he couldn’t seem to get enough. It felt like he was alive again after barely existing over the last year and a half. 

He was staring at the doorknob as it began to turn, so he had time to pull his head away and step back before the door opened; her eyes were still furious, but they also held a trace of concern. 

“Are you really going to be in trouble if I don’t?”

Oliver shrugged; he felt like scuffing the carpet with his toe, but he didn’t. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll think of something.”

She opened her mouth—to contradict herself maybe—then closed it again and set her jaw. A throat cleared at the end of the hall and Dig asked if the bathroom was free. 

Felicity wrapped her arms around her middle and edged past them both without making eye contact.

——————————————————————-

They collected Roy outside a convenience store in a neighborhood known for bad things happening in convenience stores. He didn’t explain what he was doing there. 

“You’re sure me going back to the club is safe.” His eyes stayed glued to the view out the windshield. Felicity shrugged from the backseat.

“He said so. Who knows.”

Dig’s eyes flicked to look at her in the rear view mirror. “You don’t trust him?” he asked mildly. 

Another shrug. “It’s not like we have much choice.”

Vertigo-go’s front parking lot was half-full; it appeared to be back in business. John pulled around back, past the boarded up end of the building, and they filed in through the employee entrance. 

A couple of the girls swarmed Felicity, anxious to know where she’d been; one of them noticed Roy and sidled over, full of giggles and coquettish smiles, but he shrugged her off and made sure he was glued to the bouncer’s side as Dig moved through the back hallway. 

Felicity caught up and the three of them pushed through into the murky interior of the club. The room was peppered with patrons; a girl who called herself Electra had the stage. Dig skirted around the perimeter of the room til he reached the bar, where a scrawny tattooed guy named Scooter was pouring drinks. He hadn’t been working the night Rene was killed. 

“Did you check the security footage?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the beer he was pulling. 

Dig and Felicity shared a glance. “Never thought of it,” Dig admitted. “Did the police?”

Scooter shrugged. “They don’t know we have cameras in here.” He turned away to continue working and John stepped aside to consult with the other two. 

“Whadda you think? Should we ask to see it?”

Felicity snorted even as Roy shook his head no; the club manager was a misogynistic asshat. 

John slapped a palm on the bar decisively. “No asking, then.”

——————————————————————-

Slade was spending the day in one of his warehouse offices near the docks. Oliver rolled in like he owned the place. 

“Why didn’t you answer my text?” Slade growled without looking up from the paperwork in front of him. 

“Forgot to charge my phone overnight,” he replied, the first non-lie he’d told his boss in almost a week. 

Slade paused and lifted his head to stare at Oliver with one coal black eye. “Tonight. After the docks. Shado’s.” It was his premier club. “Deliver the girl.”

Oliver nodded and Slade went back to work. 

——————————————————————-

It was the flimsiest of plans, but there wasn’t really time to come up with something more elaborate. Felicity was a huge draw at the club—and she was thinking of quitting anyway—so when she stormed the manager’s office to make demands, he sat up and listened. 

“Have you SEEN the mess they made of my dressing room?!” she demanded at a screech, really feeling the part; her confrontation with Oliver over breakfast was inspiring her performance. Her boss blinked and leaned away, taken aback by the blonde who was normally so quiet. And rational. 

Felicity flung out an arm with a pointed finger attached to demand he follow and the man stood, temporarily mesmerized by her display of rage. She led the way down the hall, and as soon as the coast was clear Dig and Roy slipped into his office. 

So far, so good. 

“The security feed will back up to the computer,” Dig speculated as he sat in the chair behind the desk and began clicking around. In no time he’d found a promising file folder and copied it over to a flash drive Felicity had conveniently pulled from her purse as they hatched their plan. Roy, on lookout, made a noise of concern and glanced back at him. 

“We gotta go.”

They slipped out of the office and headed for the exit with seconds to spare; Felicity burst out of the employee door and jogged across the parking lot soon after, her face a mix of terror and triumph. 

“Ohmygod that was fun,” she gushed, falling into the front seat Roy had left vacant. Dig handed over the drive as she was digging her tablet out of her bag; the interior of the car fell silent as she worked to find the correct date and time in the footage.

“Ooookay, here we go.” She twisted at the waist in order for Dig to be able to see. The camera was set up above and behind the bar with a perfect view of the stage. Felicity made a little noise of disgust.

“I don’t think he uses this footage for security reasons,” Roy muttered, reading her mind. He pointed himself out on the screen, just the back of his head as he stood next to Rene at the bar, shooting the shit like he’d described. Then he walked away—sent off to check the sodas—and right after a man approached the bar. 

Dig leaned further in and Roy stretched up in the seat to get a better view. 

“Oh. Frack.”

Both their heads swiveled to Felicity. 

“You know who it is?” John asked tightly. She let out a long breath in response.

——————————————————————

The text came through while Oliver was reviewing the exchange plan at the docks with the crew. He extracted his phone and glanced at it; John’s name—listed as “Smith” just to be safe because Jesus, lesson learned—was on the screen:

HAVE SOME ANSWERS. CAN YOU MEET?

Oliver stared at the screen for a few seconds before replying MY PLACE. GET A PIZZA.

——————————————————————

They were camped out around his living room, waiting; Roy looked spooked, as usual. Felicity looked disappointed he wasn’t the pizza, which made his stomach drop. 

“What did you find out?” Oliver asked immediately. If this was a lead they could act on, he wanted to get it done before tonight’s operation at the docks. He was looking at John, but he caught Felicity deflate in his peripheral vision, like the answer had something to do with her. 

“What,” he repeated when no one spoke up. 

“The man who came to meet Rene the night he was killed was Cooper Seldon,” she said. 

Oliver studied her for a beat. 

“Am I supposed to know that name?”

Dig shot a look at Felicity and then spoke up on her behalf. “He’s her ex boyfriend.”

A blink, then two, from Oliver. “Any idea why he would be meeting with Rene?”

Felicity’s shoulders hunched a little further toward her ears. “He’s a hacker.” She met his eye, finally. “You said it was someone who could get the info on Slade.”

“And he could?”

She nodded. 

Oliver shifted his weight and stared out into space, figuring. “You know where we could find him?”

“Oliver,” she started to say, unfolding from the chair she’d been tucked into, “I don’t think—“

“Don’t tell me you’re going to protect him like you did Roy.” He flipped a hand in the kid’s direction. “You remember how that worked out.”

Felicity’s eyes snapped with fury. “You’re an ass, you know that?” 

Somehow Oliver was across the room, toe to toe with her, towering over her in her bare feet. Felicity didn’t back up an inch.

John and Roy shared a long meaningful look. 

Oliver looked like he was contemplating wringing her neck. Or kissing her. The doorbell interrupted either possibility; Dig pushed up off the couch to collect the pie and the spell between the combatants broke.

By the time he turned around Oliver was on the other side of the room. 

They ate in silence around the kitchen table. Roy hiked himself up onto the counter; Oliver frowned but held his peace. The box was empty before anyone spoke.

“I’ll have to go soon.” Oliver wadded up his napkin and tossed it into the box. 

“I need to head out for a bit too. You want me at the docks tonight, just in case?”

Oliver’s eyes flicked to the crook of Dig’s arm and then he focused on his own hands folded on the table. “I’ll be alright, thanks.” His eyes lifted briefly to catch Felicity’s, but they wouldn’t hold. “It’s afterwards I’m not too sure about,” he added, almost embarrassed to be mentioning it. 

“Oliver...”

“I told you not to worry about it. I can handle it.” His eyes met hers again, and this time they remained on her. “Thanks for your help today.” Softly, just for her. 

Felicity swallowed hard and nodded. 

Everyone got to their feet when Oliver did, but only Felicity followed him to the door. He turned with his hand on the knob. 

“Your apartment is safe, for the moment, but I can’t guarantee what Slade will do when I turn up without you. You should probably stay here again tonight. Even if...”

He’d started to say “Even if I don’t come back”, but that sounded too self-serving. Or maybe accurate. Felicity bit her lip, at any rate. 

She started to open her mouth, but Oliver had already slipped out the door. 

Dig cleared the table and threw out the pizza box, then headed for the front door with a parting glance at Roy. Felicity was still standing at the closed door, her forehead almost against it. 

“Felicity...?” he asked, coming to a stop behind her. 

“While you’re out, I need you to stop by my place.” She lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder at him. 

“I’m gonna need a costume for tonight.”


	14. Chapter 14

The breeze off the harbor ruffled Oliver’s hair just a bit; he squinted into the darkness at the outline—blacker than the night sky, the only way to know it was a ship—coming into port. 

“You ever sail, Tommy?” Slade asked, like they were waiting to go on a dinner cruise.

“Never cared for the idea,” Oliver replied evenly. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out without looking. Slade’s head turned so he could get an eye on his second in command.

“Is that Rooney? I told him to shout if he saw anything out of the ordinary.” Rooney was on the roof of a nearby building.

“I’ll check it out,” Oliver confirmed, already turning away.

The text was from Dig. 

Oliver slipped between two shipping containers as soon as he was out of sight of the group on the dock, jogging to the end and turning right toward a long low building near the dry dock. Following the directions in the text. 

“I told you not to come,” he hissed as he rounded the corner, pulling up short with a curse when he realized John wasn’t alone. Felicity was tucked up against him and the building, dressed in black with a dark ball cap to cover the blonde. 

“I had to deliver her.” John sounded as exasperated as Oliver felt. “She says she’s coming with.”

Felicity frowned at both of them. “I can speak for myself,” she whisper shouted, furious. “I’m coming with,” she reiterated lamely. Oliver snorted. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” he challenged. 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Of course you want me.” There was an awkward pause. “Not what I meant. You know what I mean. God.”

“Felicity...”

“You need me, Oliver. And not just to keep Slade off your back. I can get it.”

“Get what?” he whispered, taking a step closer. John peeked around the corner, keeping lookout.

“Whatever information Rene wanted Cooper to get, I can get it.”

“You’re a...hacker?”

Felicity smirked, not displeased at his surprise. “Better than Cooper.”

Oliver’s eyes lifted above her head as he considered. “Alright. Stay here. Do what Dig tells you. I’ll be back after to get you.”

He had just reached out to squeeze her arm when Dig rolled back against the building with a warning sound under his breath. Someone was coming. Oliver lunged forward to flatten himself against the block wall, covering Felicity’s body with his own; the crunch of feet on gravel could be heard as a large group of men passed by the building. 

Oliver tucked his head down to hide his face, and that’s when he noticed the rapid puffs of warm air against the hollow of his throat as Felicity stood trapped between his body and the wall. Her hands had found their way inside his jacket and her fingers were tangled in the fabric of his shirt. 

This was not the time to be thinking of anything other than keeping still and quiet, but damn if his body wasn’t responding to her. 

No one turned the corner toward them, and the sounds of footfalls receded, heading toward the docks. 

“How many, you figure?” Dig breathed near Oliver’s ear, the perfect antidote to Felicity’s affect on him. 

“Couple dozen, probably. Not Diaz’s; all his people are coming in on the ship.”

“Depredador, maybe.”

“Shit.”

Oliver pushed off the wall and felt Felicity’s fingers fall away from his shirt; despite this new problem he almost leaned back in to ask for a kiss. 

“I have to warn Slade—“

“Oliver, wait.” Dig’s hand gripped his upper arm, holding him back. “You’re here, safe. Why don’t you let them take each other out?”

“I can’t, John. Nothing would change. There would just be a power vacuum and someone else would move in. We have to be able to prosecute.”

The grip tightened, making Oliver glance down at the hand wrapped around his arm. 

“I’m telling you to stand down.”

Oliver looked shocked. “Are we really having this conversation right now? Get the hell off me.” The last was a growl. Below him, against the wall, Felicity froze. “I may be undercover, but I’m still a police officer.”

“And I’m pulling rank.” 

It took a second for that statement to sink in. Oliver glanced at Felicity; her expression told him she didn’t know where this was coming from either. 

He and John stared each other down until John finally sighed. “John Diggle, FBI.”

Oliver’s jaw loosened, but he managed to keep his mouth from actually falling open. “Who are you trying to take down?”

“Diaz. I’ve been on him for months. Rene Ramirez was one of my informants.”

“Son of a...” Oliver breathed, rolling his eyes to heaven. His gaze dropped to the man in front of him. “You’re not interested in taking him in?”

John shook his head. “Believe it or not, sometimes we’d just rather have a guy off the board. There are bigger fish above him we need to get. Removing Diaz all at once brings them a step closer.”

“So you figure, why not let Slade and Diaz eliminate each other. Save you the trouble.” Oliver’s mouth had thinned to a hard line; he glanced at Felicity. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes wide. 

Oliver shifted his weight, conscious that he needed to make a decision: Get back into it at the docks on Slade’s side so he could try to take him down from the inside, or let nature take its course and get the hell out with his life. He sighed, glanced at the ground, then looked back up at John.

“You have any more agents planted around?”

“Not tonight. Not here.”

Oliver nodded once. “Keep her out of sight. If it falls apart I won’t try to save Diaz, but I have to protect Slade.” 

As if on cue, gunfire erupted from the direction of the water. Felicity squealed in fright and John clamped a hand on her arm as a warning. 

Oliver ducked around the corner and ran. 

——————————————————————

John mostly dragged her back to his car; the sound of gunfire had become a trigger for Felicity, and the rapid bursts of noise were making her shake until her teeth chattered. 

“Oliver,” she whimpered under her breath as he settled her into her seat. 

“He’ll be okay. He’s smart.” Dig leaned down to look at her, one arm resting on the door of the car. “He saved us, didn’t he?”

Felicity nodded agreement, still shivering violently. He closed the door carefully and rounded the car to get in on his side. 

“You okay?” he asked after a few minutes. Felicity wiggled around in her seat until she was facing him. 

“I will be.” She sighed heavily. 

“What are you thinking?”

Her eyes flicked to him and then out the windshield. “I’m thinking that out of all of us, my life is the one that’s been turned upside down, and yet I’m the only one who’s been honest about everything.” She gave him a small shrug and sniffed once. 

“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before now.”

The car fell silent as she wiped her nose; it was obvious there was more she wanted to say. 

“Were you nice to me...at the club, because you had to be? Was it just part of the mission?” Her voice had gotten smaller as she talked; by the end it was just a squeak. 

John made a tsk noise under his breath and reached out to engulf her hand inside one of his. 

“I can’t imagine there’s a man on this planet who hasn’t fallen for you at least a little, Felicity.” She huffed a laugh and looked down, bashful, making John smile. “You were new, and you...you just looked so out of place there. I thought you needed a friend.”

She looked back up. “And the dressing room?”

“The other girls...some of them are into drugs, some of them have pimps. No good could come of you being around them.” He smiled gently. “The broom closet seemed like a good solution.” 

They both laughed at that. 

In the silence that followed Felicity reached out with her free hand to touch John’s arm just below the inside of his elbow. 

“Oliver thought maybe you were doing drugs...” She trailed off, but looked up at him when he chuckled. 

“I was off getting IVs. Blood, saline. You and Oliver saved me and then the FBI brought me back to life.”

A smile flitted across Felicity’s face and then fell away. 

“You think he’s okay out there?”

——————————————————————-

Rooney’s path intercepted Oliver’s at the end of a row of shipping containers. 

“Where the hell have you been?” the man growled, his gun already drawn. Oliver kept his eyes straight ahead.

“I was coming to check in with you, but then I saw THEM and decided to follow.”

“Diaz?”

“Depredador, maybe.”

Rooney swore under his breath. 

A burst of gunfire very close by sent them backwards against the side of a container until they could assess. In the half light Rooney caught Oliver’s attention and motioned upward; Oliver nodded and climbed the side of the shipping container soundlessly. 

From this vantage point he could see the docks—would be able to see water if he dared stand upright. The night was lit up by the gunfire; it was impossible to tell who was who. The ship had docked and the action had spread to its deck, but whether Diaz was fighting alongside or against Slade he couldn’t say. 

Rooney had moved forward a row, so when Oliver hit the ground he had to jog to catch up. 

“They’re fighting on the ship now,” he muttered, “but I can’t tell if it’s us or Depredador.”

Rooney spit on the ground. “Hope it’s the gang and they take out Diaz.”

Oliver started to open his mouth to remind him that Diaz and Depredador were allies, but then he remembered nobody in Slade’s outfit knew that yet. God, this was getting complicated. 

A barked order floated to them from their right.

“There’s Slade,” Rooney confirmed. Oliver was already pushing away from the container’s relative safety; they jogged forward in tandem, guns drawn.

It was Slade’s legs they saw first, splayed out on the ground, boot tips pointing to the sky. Oliver’s heart rate ratcheted up out of concern that someone got to his boss before he could. He skidded to a halt and dropped to one knee next to the man’s shoulder. 

“Are you hit?” Clearly he was; his head lolled faintly to the side and he peered up at Oliver with his one eye watering in pain.

“They got the vest,” he wheezed; his dress shirt was opened all the way down to reveal an indentation in the black Kevlar beneath. Oliver blew out a breath of relief even as his eyes scanned the scene, on the lookout for any other shooters. 

“Looks like Depredador is here,” he said quietly. Behind him Rooney’s feet crunched on gravel as he shifted, also keeping an eye out. 

“Then it’s time for us to go,” Slade groaned, lifting one arm slightly to indicate his intention to get to his feet. Oliver hooked a hand under his arm while Rooney stepped to his other side and did the same. Slade heaved himself upright with a grunt of pain, but once he was standing he shook off the help and made his own way back to their vehicles. 

Oliver hesitated at the door to Slade’s big SUV; his car was here—and they would know that—but none of them knew that Slade Wilson’s favorite stripper was waiting behind a building a few hundred feet away as well. The driver slumped forward over the steering wheel and gave Oliver the “Get in or get outta the way” look and Oliver stepped back. Slade’s head turned to him; he looked worn out. 

“You still bringing me the girl?” he panted. That bullet might’ve busted a rib, Oliver thought absently. He looked his boss square in the eye. 

“You sure you’re up to it? It can wait til tomorrow—“

“Hell no. I need the distraction. Something to keep my hands busy.” For a second he bared all his teeth in a feral grin and Oliver’s stomach dropped. He made sure to keep eye contact as he shrugged an “As you wish”. 

The big vehicle’s tires crunched and spit gravel as it turned around and rolled away at speed. Oliver didn’t stand around to watch it go.


	15. Chapter 15

A couple of text messages allowed John to bring Felicity straight to his car; she was carrying a flimsy-looking bit of fabric on a hanger and a makeup bag. A large canvas tote with “I heart Las Vegas” printed on it dragged on her shoulder. She looked both scared and determined.

Oliver wanted to drive away with her and never look back.

He exchanged a look with Dig over her head and reached for the passenger side door handle, but before he could pull it open she ducked between them and let herself into the back seat. 

“I have to change,” she said quietly. 

Felicity closed herself into the car as Oliver’s gaze returned to Dig. 

“You need me for backup?” he rumbled, arms crossing over his broad chest. 

Oliver shook his head. “Slade’s made you from Vertigo-go. No way he wouldn’t notice you in his club.” He focused off John’s left shoulder. “Shado’s is a premiere spot, as strip clubs go, but it’s still just a club. I’d be much more worried if he wanted me to bring her downtown to the high rise. That place is like Fort Knox.” Oliver looked him in the eye. “I can take care of her.”

John nodded, not breaking his gaze. “Call if you need me.”

Oliver settled into the driver’s seat with a glance at the rear view mirror; his eyes caught a flash of the underside of one of Felicity’s bare breasts as she started to lift her shirt over her head, but their eyes caught in the mirror and she paused. 

“We’d better get going,” she said. He looked away to put it into gear and pulled away from John. 

The first ten minutes of the drive were silent; Oliver didn’t attempt to look into the backseat again. Felicity was the first to speak.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen it, but this is a total Dirty Dancing moment.” The makeup bag landed on the console next to his hip and her left leg followed as she slithered between the bucket seats and fell into the seat beside him. A cropped sweatshirt and yoga pants covered whatever costume she’d put on. 

“I know Dirty Dancing,” he replied mildly. “Don’t put Baby in a corner, right?” 

Oncoming headlights illuminated her brief smile. “Close enough.”

Shado’s sat near the better side of town, more discreet than the run-of-the-mill strip clubs, a popular destination for entertaining out of town business clients and the like. It was late, nearing midnight; traffic was beginning to thin. Oliver turned the radio on but kept it low. 

“I should probably tell you about Cooper,” Felicity said softly. She’d pulled her legs up into the seat and sat with her arms crossed over her chest. Chilly. He raised the temperature on the climate control without being asked. 

“You don’t have to—“

“No. You need to hear what happened.”

Oliver nodded at the windshield in silence and waited for her to tell her story. 

“My dad left my mom and me when I was seven.”

He glanced her way once; this wasn’t usually how bad ex-boyfriend stories began. 

“She worked three jobs to keep us going. As a cocktail waitress. It was...rough. And lonely.” Felicity shivered once and Oliver turned the fan up another notch. “So when I was offered a free ride for college, it was a big deal. Even if I had to move out of state.” 

She sighed once, her head swiveling to follow a car turning right in front of them. Oliver sat silently. 

“I met Cooper in my first class. He was smart, and fun, and a little dangerous. I was crazy about him. He convinced me hactivism was the way to change the world.” Oliver’s head turned to her briefly. “Mostly we did little stuff: Changing all the passwords of politicians we disagreed with, that sort of thing. Until the night at the start of our Senior year when Cooper decided to hack the university’s financial aid office. He thought he could erase some student debt. But he got caught.”

There was a longish pause; Oliver reached a hand out and she latched onto it with both of hers and shifted it into her lap. 

“He got arrested and expelled. I was only an accessory, so they decided to go easy.” She was looking out the window again. “They took away my free ride. Zero financial aid with one year to go. Hence, Felicity Smoak, Exotic Dancer.” She freed a hand to sweep over herself in a rueful Ta Da. 

“Felicity, I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders lifted once in a ‘What can you do?’ shrug.

They were getting closer to the club; Oliver cleared his throat. 

“When we get in there...we can’t...be like this.” His hand was still trapped between hers and he squeezed lightly. “I’m supposed to be bringing you here against your will.”

Felicity’s snort in the darkness surprised him. 

“Oh, trust me, I AM doing this against my will.”

He made a tsk sound with his tongue, but he couldn’t stop his brief grin. 

“You know what I mean.”

No pink neon or girl in a martini glass heralded this strip club; Shado’s looked more like an elegant restaurant, or a boutique hotel. 

“Fancy,” she murmured as he pulled up to the curb and a valet opened her door. Oliver emerged from his side and left the door open for the other attendant. By the time he’d rounded the back of the car Felicity was waiting for him with a sullen scowl. A very convincing one. He slipped a hand under her elbow and gave her a little jerk against his body and the scowl deepened. 

“Ow,” she mumbled, but let herself be dragged through the front doors into the dark-yet-high-end interior. A beautiful Asian woman in a floor length gown that left nothing to the imagination glided forward with an enigmatic smile and claimed Oliver’s other arm, her hip grazing his in an intimate way that made the space between Felicity’s eyebrows crinkle. He squeezed her elbow once to keep her focused.

The woman led them down the hall past a large set of double doors where a slow dance beat throbbed from inside. She chose a door further down on the right and passed through with a sly look over her shoulder for Oliver and an exaggerated sway in her hips. 

“Is that Shado?” Felicity hissed beside him. His grip tightened enough to make her complain as he propelled her through the door in front of him with a warning look. Ahead of them the woman reached over to flip on a light and reveal a small intimate stage with straight-backed chairs lined up in neat rows in front of it. There was a shiny pole and blood red velvet curtains on the stage. 

The woman turned one full circle like a runway model—complete with arms flung out like a Price Is Right Girl—Before slinking back toward Oliver with a gleam in her eye. 

“Will I see you later, Tommy?” It was a purr, with just the hint of an accent.

Felicity’s eyes had been roaming the walls and ceiling, but they snapped back to the exchange in front of her; from the corner of his eye Oliver could tell the scowl was back. 

“Afraid I’ll be busy tonight. Some other time?”

The woman’s eyes flicked to Felicity and a predatory smile stretched her mouth before she slunk from the room. Oliver watched her go. 

“Hey, TOMMY.” Felicity said his fake name through her teeth and elbowed him hard in the side. 

“Ow, knock it off.”

“Who is she?”

Oliver didn’t have to fake the annoyed frown as he glanced down at her. He was pleasantly surprised to see jealousy written clearly on Felicity’s face; it turned his frown into a smirk, but he didn’t answer fast enough to suit her.

“Is that the Shado the club’s named after?”

Oliver sighed. They were getting off track. “No. She’s just a hostess. He has several. The real Shado...” He looked away, threw up a hand. “I don’t know, she’s somebody from Slade’s past. I think she’s dead.”

“But you and this one...” Felicity trailed off, the hard suspicion suddenly gone from her eyes and her voice. Replaced by uncertainty.

“No.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Never.” 

Her shoulders dropped slightly, the wariness leaving her, and she nodded once. Convinced he was telling the truth, that the flirting was just an act. Oliver’s eyes left her to sweep the room before returning. 

“What do you need?”

‘You,’ she almost said, but swallowed it and turned away to the wall opposite the stage. “A/V. I need to plug into the system. For my music...etcetera.”

Oliver was already moving away to search, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Etcetera. Sounds intriguing.”

Besides the door they had come in, on the opposite wall there was a swinging door to the back of the house; only one other door remained, probably the electrical room. He reached out for her upper arm and dragged her forward—she yelped and stumbled, but complied—toward the door. 

“Cameras,” he murmured, warning her to act the part. Felicity tried once to wrench away from his hand, but he already had them in front of the door. He opened it wide and shoved her forward. 

The room was tiny, just a closet, with a rack of electronics on the wall to the right. Still...

Oliver took a deep breath and stepped in after her, leaving the door wide open. He only had a minute. 

Felicity made a little ‘oh’ sound as he crowded her against the rack of equipment; she turned against him, one hand reaching up for the lapel of his jacket, the other gripping the metal rack behind her. 

“Oliver...” she whispered, but he shushed her and attacked her mouth, his hands sliding around her waist to pull her even closer. The kiss went on and on, until Felicity pulled away to catch her breath and bumped her head against the shelf behind her. Oliver made a little noise of concern and slid a hand up to cradle the back of her head, dipping closer to leave a trail of hot kisses against her jawline. 

“You’ve put me off twice just so you could do it the first time in an A/V closet? Sexy.”

He huffed in amusement against her neck. 

“Tonight. When we get out of this.” He whispered the promise. His hands moved up to cup her face and he waited until she was looking at him. “I’m not gonna leave you for a second. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

In one smooth motion he moved back from her and swiveled for the door; Felicity sucked in a single shaky breath and turned around to work on the sound system. 

———————————————————-

She had just stepped onto the small stage and slipped behind the curtains when the door to the room opened and Slade walked in; Rooney hovered off his left shoulder, but otherwise they had come alone. Oliver waited for their approach, breathing calmed, expression—if anything—bored.

“She put up much of a fight?” Slade’s gravelly voice held a hint of excitement. Oliver lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Inconsequential, it said. 

They filed past and Oliver turned with them, falling into step with Rooney, his eyes on the empty stage. “Who else is coming?”

“This is it.” Slade waved an arm expansively as he walked up the aisle between the chairs. Oliver studied his gait; he was still favoring the side that had taken the bullet earlier. He took a seat in the front row, on the aisle. Rooney chose a chair in the row behind their boss, moving in a seat to leave room, so Oliver sat too. Slade shifted around until he could see Oliver over his shoulder, though the maneuver made him grimace. 

“I’m expecting an intimate performance this evening, and I don’t feel like sharing with everybody. But I believe loyalty needs to be rewarded. Don’t you?”

He turned back around as Rooney reached out to land a gentle punch against his shoulder with a salacious look and Oliver thought he might be sick. Shit shit shit. The impact of what a terrible mistake this had been rolled over him so hard it made him dizzy. He had to grab her and get out of here. Now. 

Just before he pushed to his feet, wracking his brain for an excuse, the lights in the room dimmed and the music began. A screechy guitar intro overlaid with a familiar riff from a sixties song morphed into a beat that growled; Oliver felt the pull of familiarity under his anxiety, like seeing a face in the crowd that triggered memories of home. This was a song he’d known growing up, but before he could get any further Felicity appeared on stage, taking his breath. 

She’d tousled her hair and shed the sweatshirt and pants; the form-fitting, black cropped shirt and thong left absolutely nothing to the imagination because they were both sheer. His galloping pulse took on a new beat of desire as he watched her gyrate around the pole. She looked angry that she had to be there, without a doubt, but also totally in control of the situation. Like she’d invited THEM to HER show, and now she was going to teach them a lesson. 

The singing began and he immediately recognized Janet Jackson’s voice. Ah, yes. The song with the lyrics it was mostly impossible to understand; Felicity must’ve thought the same thing, because as soon as Janet began singing the words to the song appeared on the walls of the room, slithering across the curtains, sliding over Felicity’s curves as she swung around the pole, courtesy of the projector hanging from the ceiling.

“How many nights I've laid in bed  
Excited over you  
I've closed my eyes and thought of us  
A hundred different ways”

Oliver found himself mesmerized by the routine, reading the lyric excerpts floating on the walls as he watched her throw herself into the pole moves he’d come to know as her own unique style. 

“I've gotten there so many times  
I wonder how 'bout you  
Day and night, night and day  
All I've got to say is”

He glanced away once to look at Slade; the man was motionless, totally absorbed in the performance. 

“If I was your girl, oh, the things I'd do to you  
I'd make you call out my name, I'd ask who it belongs to  
If I was your woman, the things I'd do to you  
But I'm not, so I can't, then I won't, but if I was your girl”

The second verse was even more explicit; Oliver swallowed hard, his mouth dry as she flipped upside down at the top of the pole and rotated to the floor in time with the music.

“You on the rise as you're touchin' my thighs  
And let me know what you like, if you like I'll go  
Down, down, down, down, da, down, down  
I'll hold you in my hand and maybe”

Slade caught his attention briefly, shifting in his seat.

“Your smooth and shiny feels so good  
Against my lips, sugar  
I want you so bad  
I can taste your love right now, baby”

Oliver flashed back to the morning and the memory of Felicity’s head under the covers—the feel of her mouth on him—and almost groaned out loud. 

“Day and night, night and day  
All I've got to say is”

He’d never seen anything so dirty and provocative in his life.

“If I was your girl, oh, the things I'd do to you  
I'd make you call out my name, I'd ask who it belongs to  
If I was your woman, the things I'd do to you  
But I'm not, so I can't, then I won't, but if I was your girl”

The song was winding down, repeating the chorus, chanting its way to a climax. There was no need for Felicity to strip because everything she had was already on display. 

“If I was your girl, oh, the things I'd do to you  
I'd make you call out my name, I'd ask who it belongs to  
If I was your woman, the things I'd do to you  
But I'm not”

When the song ended she was staring straight at Slade, but Oliver knew, gut-deep, that the last line was intended for him. 

“If I was your woman...But I’m not”

Slade’s slow clap of appreciation broke the spell; Oliver had to concentrate very hard not to move a muscle. Rooney joined his boss, whistling harshly through his teeth, and Felicity’s performance bubble seemed to pop; she stood straight from her ending pose but her elbow stayed hooked around the pole at her side. Slade rose slowly from his seat and approached the stage. 

“You truly are an angel.” His voice was soft. He stopped at the foot of the stage. “Tell me, Angel. What’s your real name?”

Oliver stopped breathing. 

“Sara,” she said, with just the slightest hesitation. Soft, but clear. Proud. 

He couldn’t see Slade’s face, but he could imagine the expression, and what he imagined made him sick.

“I’d be interested to know what you do for an encore.”

The stage was low, low enough for Slade to step up onto it without much effort. As much as Oliver towered over her, the Australian eclipsed her with his bulk; it blocked Oliver’s view of her and made his heart lurch. 

Suddenly she was visible again, edging toward stage left, a look on her face that was neither welcoming nor off-putting; a performer’s face, a woman doing her job because that’s what she was paid to do. 

Slade kept advancing until she turned her back to disappear behind the curtain, and quick as a snake he reached out to capture her wrist in his massive paw. Oliver saw her jump, like she hadn’t really believed he would try anything with other people in the room. Oliver started to rise, watching Slade push her behind the curtain and already moving to intercept, or distract—anything to get her free of this—but a hand fell heavily onto his shoulder and squeezed hard. He tried to shrug it off but when he turned his head Rooney was grinning at him, and not in a good way. 

“You’ll get your turn,” he gritted through his teeth, and the hand clamped down harder. 

Oliver dropped the shoulder and twisted away just as a crash echoed from behind the stage, followed by a throaty snarl from Slade. 

In the next instant Felicity shrieked his name. 

She called him Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is “If”, by Janet Jackson. I clearly remember hearing it on the radio in the 90s, but never knew all the lyrics until I was writing this chapter. Yowza.


	16. Chapter 16

There was so much blood. Why wouldn’t it stop?

———————————————————————

Follow through on the twist, come up under the arm, bull rush forward to knock him off balance and on to the floor. Hard. No time to subdue. Get up. Move.

———————————————————————-

Three, four, five red lights blown through. It still didn’t feel like enough.

———————————————————————

One long stride onto the stage, quick feet to negotiate the curtain. Where the hell are they?

——————————————————————-

“Oliver, I’m sorry,” she moaned, a bubbly, wet sound as she rocked back and forth. “I’m so sorry.”

———————————————————————

Oh god. There. 

———————————————————————-

How far out of town was safe? Should they ditch the car? 

————————————————————————

It’s just Slade’s back at first, his arms busy, struggling with her; she must be in front of him, under him. Get his attention.

———————————————————————-

Where THE HELL was all the blood coming from?!

———————————————————————-

He’s turning. His eye is running, with tears, and a trickle of blood. He swats behind himself, blinded and enraged, one giant hand around her throat while she kicks and flails. 

Get him to let go. 

———————————————————————

An hour, maybe more, of driving. How much farther would they need to go, to be safe?

———————————————————————-

The first punch barely makes Slade flinch. God. His free hand balls up in retaliation as he turns to get a better angle. Felicity looks like a rag doll, her efforts to free herself useless as he turns her and pulls her into his body, trapped against his chest. His prize. His human shield.

———————————————————————-

It was getting harder to keep focus. Fatigue, or blood loss? Not that it mattered.

———————————————————————-

Rooney again. Don’t let him—shit, gotta get out of this hold. 

Fuck, Slade hits hard. 

———————————————————————-

There. Seedy as hell, but the owner of such an establishment wasn’t likely to ask questions of a stripper and a guy bleeding out. Hopefully. 

———————————————————————-

He has her trapped against his good side. The side that wasn’t shot earlier. The rib. Go for that rib. 

———————————————————————-

Forty bucks and no questions. This place would do nicely. 

———————————————————————-

Knee caps are a beautiful weapon, if you don’t mind limping for a couple days after. Slade’s roar of pain is only slightly less satisfying than the crack of stressed ribs giving way. He doubles over and lets go of Felicity simultaneously. 

Should’ve killed Rooney the first time. Guy’s a savage, but not impossible. Duck, spin, choke hold. Night night, big boy. 

Felicity. Where is she? 

Oh god. 

———————————————————————

The car needed to be ditched; but where? A side street would work. Inconspicuous, but easy to get to in an emergency. 

Best to disguise the limp and the grievous wound so the neighbors didn’t spook and call the cops. 

———————————————————————

Back out front, off the stage, keep calm, she has to be here. She has to—there. The damn closet. God dammit, woman. 

——————————————————————-

There was so much goddamn blood...

———————————————————————

Front door or back door? The car won’t still be out front, but who knows where the back door leads. Front it is. 

Walk fast but not frantic. Pull her close; just a patron and his date headed out for the evening. His mostly naked date. Shit. Wait...is that...?

——————————————————————-

The motel had seen better decades, but at least it was clean. Safe enough for the night, until he could re-group. 

And get the damn bleeding to stop. 

“Can I see it?” she asked, her voice still shaky and cracking with tears, his suit coat engulfing her. Covering the fact that she was basically naked otherwise. 

Oliver sat on the edge of one of the two beds squeezed into the room, bone-weary and disappointed that the adrenaline was seeping out of him, because its replacement was not going to be pleasant at all. He allowed Felicity to pluck at his shirt sleeve, the left one, sopping with blood and beginning to stick to his arm. He focused on the left sleeve of his coat, Felicity’s tiny arm swallowed whole inside it; that sleeve carried a corresponding slash down the outside. 

She made a little gagging noise when she got to his elbow, or what used to be his elbow. Time would tell, but one faintly curious glance told him it was missing some crucial component. 

At least that explained all the blood. 

“We should clean this up.” Her voice did not belong to someone eager to do any such thing, but she wrapped both hands around his other arm—the not-bleeding one—and tugged to convince him to stand. 

He staggered as he got up, but she ducked under his good arm and stabilized him, letting him lean on her as they both limped to the bathroom. It was one of those room layouts with the sink outside the bathroom, so everyone in your party could watch you brush your teeth in your underwear. 

His reflection in the mirror looked worse than he’d imagined; the lighting was poor, but still. He had a split lip, a swollen jaw, and a small cut at the end of one eyebrow, almost an extension of the brow itself. Under that brow was a scar he’d earned in his first playground fight in fourth grade; the kid who’d given it to him grew up to die young serving his country. Oliver had never been given the chance to thank him. For his service, not the scar. 

He huffed a laugh at his own inside joke and Felicity’s head swiveled up to him so fast she staggered a step. 

“You think this is funny?” Her voice cracked, on the edge of hysteria, but who could blame her? She’d seen more shit in three days with him then she’d probably see the rest of her life. Assuming that was a long time yet. 

Oliver hung his head and shook it once. “No.” 

The towels were so thin they were practically see-through, which at least made them easy to tear into strips. First they turned two bath-sized ones pink cleaning up his arm. Felicity was remarkable; if it wasn’t for the pursed lips and the set of her jaw he would never know it bothered her, and he knew from their experience with Dig that it definitely bothered her. 

Oliver explained to her—in a voice gone fuzzy and faint—how to wrap a hand towel around his arm, pushing the wound edges back together the best she could, and then tying it in place with the strips of towel. He did his best to keep his reactions small, though she kept looking at him, like she was expecting a swear word at least. 

Felicity tied the last knot then fussed with the ends, in the way girls have of making everything just so. It was a coping mechanism, no doubt, a way to deal with the horrors of this evening and the uncertainty of the future. The adrenaline was long gone, his arm a white-hot pulse in time with his heartbeat, but he risked his own stabilization to snake his good arm around her waist and pull her against his chest. She stiffened for half a second—afraid to hurt him, he was sure—then went boneless against him, folding her arms up between her chest and his and making herself impossibly small. 

“I better lie down,” he finally whispered into her hair. He wondered at first if she’d heard, but just before he said her name Felicity stepped back and turned under his arm to support him. 

By the time Oliver sat on the closest bed and laid back he was already out. 

——————————————————————

In his dream he relived the final moments inside Shado’s: The uncertainty of walking out onto the street with a mostly-naked Felicity, the urge to run—because he hadn’t killed Slade OR Rooney—the feel of her small hand held tight in his. I told Dig I could take care of her, he thought grimly. 

She stepped out of nowhere, the hostess in the skin-tight gown, her eyes wild and her teeth bared. Beside him Felicity flinched back on instinct but he yanked on her arm, planning to push past and get clear. Hail a cab, steal a car, anything to put some distance between them and Slade. 

She must’ve been hiding the katana behind her back, some wall decoration pulled down, maybe; he didn’t see it until she had it raised in the air. The woman lunged forward with a yell as Oliver twisted away to protect Felicity with his body, ducking and pushing forward simultaneously.

His world exploded into white light and pain as the sword came down along his arm, bicep to almost wrist, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Oliver kicked out without thinking and connected with her midsection, sending her backwards and off balance. The pain took his breath and stunned him; it was Felicity, dragging on his hand, who got him moving again.

There was more, how they found a car, the hours in it fleeing the city, but pain was beginning to nibble at the edges of his dream, gnawing at him, pulling his focus. 

And there was something else. A sound.

Oliver came to, disoriented and in a haze of pain, just as the motel room door flew inward with a bang. He sat up fast and almost toppled over; he’d fallen asleep with his legs still hanging over the edge and Felicity must’ve covered him with the blanket from the other bed, because now he was hopelessly tangled in all of it. 

Felicity yelped at the sound, a wounded animal noise; he felt her scramble backwards off the bed and down between it and the wall. 

“Don’t shoot, don’t SHOOT,” he pleaded, wanting to roll himself her way to give her cover, but that would mean falling on that arm—oh god—and he couldn’t get his feet out of the damn blankets fast enough anyway. 

“STAND DOWN!”

The world had gone impossibly noisy and then deadly still, all in the span of two seconds. Multiple flashlight beams flung themselves around the room, illuminating Oliver’s attempts to get his legs free of the bedspread, his left arm limp and useless at his side. 

The shadow of a body moved into the room, with another behind it. A shout, a struggle, a shot fired that lit up the room with a flash and made Felicity scream and Oliver flinch. 

“FBI. DON’T. MOVE.”

And then a hand attached to a tree-trunk arm was on his shoulder, squeezing, while the other reached down next to him to collect Felicity and pull her up from the floor by the bed, and Oliver could breathe again. 

“Shit, Dig.” It didn’t even sound like his voice. 

“I know. We’ve got you.”

“How...”

There was a bigger light now, a spotlight of some kind shining in from the parking lot, making Oliver squint. The bed shifted with Felicity’s weight as she tucked herself up next to him, shivering. Through his squint Oliver watched John’s eyes flick to her and back to him. 

“She turned a tracer on. Led us right to you.”

Oliver tried to lean out and around to see who was being hauled out the door.

“Was that...?”

“Slade? No. But one of his.” John’s eyes glanced at Felicity again. “She let them track you too.”

Oliver turned to look at her; her eyes were still glazed with fear and fatigue but she shrugged, almost nonchalant. Her hand disappeared into the pocket of his suit coat—the one she was still wearing—and came out with a flash drive, which she held in her open palm.

“I figured Slade’s computers would be networked, so during the show I cloned his system, and made sure he had a way to follow us—off your cell phone—if everything went south.” She shrugged again. “And then counted on Dig to get to us in time.”

Oliver didn’t know whether to laugh or be extremely pissed off. “You knew about this, and let her do it?”

John rolled his eyes, clearly pleased with her. “You know how she is.”

A fellow agent broke in on their conversation to give them the all clear and to let them know the ambulance had arrived. Felicity made a show of handing the flash drive off to John—everything they needed to put Slade Wilson away—and then slipped her arm through Oliver’s. 

God, he needed a vacation.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of their beginning, one of my favorite places to be. This was so much fun to write; thanks for all the love and encouragement!
> 
> You know me: My song of choice for this last chapter is You Are the Reason, by Calum Scott.

Oliver woke from the first surgery to find Felicity tucked up in a chair next to the bed, a textbook in her lap and one hand holding his. When he woke from the second surgery she was in the bed with him, curled against his good side, sound asleep. 

Later he would blame the anesthesia, but as they lay there in the hospital he told her everything about Sara from the beginning, including how he found her the day she died. They both cried. 

He never had another nightmare about her. 

He watched the news report of Slade Wilson’s indictment from his living room, his left arm in a huge soft cast. A police officer stood guard outside his apartment 24/7; there was no way Slade wouldn’t know who had betrayed him. 

Despite the screaming fight they had about it, Felicity got another strip club job to pay for her last semester of college. Oliver made Roy go with her to work every night. 

Ricardo “The Dragon” Diaz was killed by a drunk driver on a random Thursday afternoon, freeing John Diggle to move on to the next case. Complete strangers at the gym often commented about the unusual scar on his side.

In the end—because of the surgeries, the madness of Slade’s trial, the push to finals—it was Felicity who decided they should wait. 

———————————————————————

Oliver took one last look at himself in the bathroom mirror and blew out a nervous breath; in forty-five minutes she would graduate, then they’d grab a bite with her mother—oh god—and head to the airport to use the travel vouchers he’d been holding onto for two years. 

John and Roy made it before him. They’d saved him a place on the bleachers, up near the top where they could see the whole stadium. 

“You really moving back to Starling City?” John asked as they stared out over the field of empty white folding chairs placed in even rows along the yard lines. Oliver rubbed the thumb and middle finger of his left hand together, a new tic he’d developed thanks to the nerve damage in his arm. 

“Felicity got a job offer from Palmer Tech. My old job is still available.” He shrugged once. “Seems like the right time.”

“Back to Homicide, huh? You ready?”

He meant the arm, but Oliver thought of Sara. 

“I’m ready,” he assured his friend softly.

A line of graduates in bright red gowns and mortar boards, their tassels whipping wildly in the breeze, began their stately procession across the track.

“What about you, Roy? You’ll be out of a job with Felicity gone.”

Roy squinted into the afternoon glare, trying to pick out a tiny blonde—graduating with honors—from the line. “I don’t know. I kinda like the idea of crime fighting. Just me, from the shadows. Justice for the common man, you know?”

“You mean, like, a vigilante or something?” Dig snorted. “That’s a terrible idea, Roy.”

“And probably not something you should be telling your law enforcement buddies,” Oliver added with a frown.

—————————————————————-

There was just enough time to hit the beach for an hour before dinner. The swirl of nervousness that had resided in his belly all day had disappeared as soon as she emerged from the hotel bathroom in her bikini with a soft, shy smile. 

Felicity was stretched out on her stomach, arms under her head and her face turned toward the ocean and, subsequently, him.

“How’s the arm?”

Oliver, sitting up near her head, rolled his left shoulder a couple of times. “It’s fine. I’ve always thought being able to straighten both arms was overrated.”

She huffed a laugh and wiggled her bottom in time with her head shake. Oliver watched the former and fervently hoped dinner went fast. 

“You ready?” she asked, and for a panicked second Oliver didn’t know if she meant for food or for sex. Because the answer to both was a very adamant ‘yes’. But she hadn’t waited for an answer, was already pushing up onto her hands and knees and hunting for her flip flops, so he figured she meant the meal. 

Since the hotel had a restaurant they agreed to stick close to home for their first dinner in Hawaii, both of them a little skittish and awkward as they dressed. Oliver fiddled with his shirt sleeves, not liking the formal look of a buttoned cuff but self-conscious about his arm that still carried an angry pink line down the outside. Felicity, finger-combing the waves in her hair, crossed the room to run a hand across his back.

“Roll up the sleeves,” she whispered, pushing up on her tiptoes to reach his ear. “Scars are sexy.”

Oliver huffed a laugh as he complied, his face gone adorably pink. “Are you saying I should get more?”

Felicity shook an adamant ‘no’ with her head and laughed. He turned to admire her, dressed in a short sundress that was deep blue at the bottom but gradually lightened until it was the color of the sky at the top. The dress ended in a halter that left her shoulders wonderfully bare. 

Felicity watched his eyes roaming over her and bit her lip. “Is it okay?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his heart full. “It’s perfect.”

A plumeria tree in the courtyard had dropped blossoms over the close-clipped grass; Felicity paused to crouch down and pluck one up, then wove its stem into her hair behind one ear. Oliver thought he might not be able to control himself long enough to eat. 

They were seated on a covered deck with a view of the sun setting into the ocean. The music from a live band drifted to them from the beach while palm trees swayed along with the breeze. Felicity looked nervous, and Oliver couldn’t stop fussing with his silverware. 

“Look at us,” he chuckled, eyes cast down to his busy hands. “What do we have to be nervous about?”

Felicity giggled. “I know. We’ve already covered every topic we could possibly talk about on a first date, or a second date. And you’ve already seen me naked.”

A woman at the next table overheard and glanced over and Oliver swallowed hard. “Multiple times, naked. All the time,” he muttered. 

“Right. So, we should just relax, enjoy our meal, and let the rest of it happen whenever it happens.”

They stared at each other for a full five seconds as their server approached to take their drink order. Without breaking Oliver’s eye contact Felicity asked if they could order off the same menu from room service, and then they were excusing themselves and pushing back from the table.

His hand strayed down her back as they walked at a rather fast clip to their room; he stopped her just inside the stairwell to push her against the wall and kiss her, slow, the urgency of the walk back forgotten. He laced his fingers through hers and pushed her hands up over her head and she made a little breathy sound against his mouth. 

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” she whispered with a laugh in her voice when he pulled back to let her breathe. 

“You ready?” Husky and deep, a voice steeped in desire. 

“More than.” She freed her hands and shoved him back a step playfully before grabbing his hand and leading the way up the stairs. 

The nervous awkwardness from earlier had evaporated, but Felicity still looked shy as she reached behind her neck to untie the halter and let the dress fall to a puddle around her feet; she was completely and totally bare underneath. Oliver groaned deep in his chest and closed the distance to scoop her up in his arms, his hands cupping her perfect ass as he lifted her. 

He rotated them to the bed and laid her down gently, then straightened to work on his own clothes as he let his eyes wander. Felicity was watching him just as eagerly, and didn’t stay down long once he dropped his pants; she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, just above eye level with his bobbing erection. She took him into her mouth so fast it made him hiss. 

Oliver groaned as she worked him over, deep-throating him in a rhythm that threatened to end their evening much too soon. He cupped her head between his hands and begged her to stop; her eyes took on a mischievous glint but she complied, letting go with a pop that made her giggle. 

He dropped to his knees immediately—before she got any other thoughts of torturing him in her head—and pushed her shoulders back onto the bed so he could lift each of her legs in turn and drape them over his shoulders. Felicity sighed and wiggled her bottom once, already anticipating his next move. He slipped his hands under her ass and slid her toward him until he had the perfect angle. 

Exploring her with his eager mouth fulfilled a fantasy that had kept him awake countless nights since he’d met her, this angel sent to bring him back to life and show him there was still good in the world. Her cries of pleasure mingled with the calls of the seabirds outside their open window, and her release crashed over her in sync with the waves on the beach. 

Felicity reached out to pull him up her body, offering herself to him, welcoming him in. Oliver held his breath as he sank inside her; it felt like coming home.


End file.
